


Ball and Chain

by Wuzzle98



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Character Death, Co-Dependency, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Thedas, Sera/ Adaar, Unhealthy Relationships, cullrian - Freeform, kinda smutty, withdrawals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 100,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wuzzle98/pseuds/Wuzzle98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is a veteran, a loner and a lyrium addict. And is on a crash course.<br/>Dorian is a runaway, an apostate, and somewhat of an alcoholic. But things are starting to get better.</p><p>The two meet somewhere in the middle. Can Dorian pull his love out of his early grave, or will Cullen bury them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boys Don't Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the first chapter of what I hope to be a really long fic. I don't just ship Cullrian; I also really like Lavellan/Trevelyan/Cullen/Dorian (if that makes any sense), but after reading lots of Cullen/Dorian, it definitely is a pairing that's cute. So, here you go. An- admittedly angsty- Cullrian fic! Enjoy, and if you spot mistakes, just point them out! I'm sorry this chapter is so short; It took me two weeks to write cause I just struggled so much with putting what I was thinking into words. The next chapter will hopefully be longer!
> 
> And I apologise if the characterisation is a bit clunky- I've never written Cullen or Dorian before, so I'm kinda feeling my way along.

Cullen sat at the booth, only vaguely aware of the conversations going on in the club around him. The pounding of the music in his chest and the press of bodies on either side of him kept him firmly within his own skin, unable to pretend he was anywhere else, feeling anything else but the fierce craving that was twisting in his stomach. He tried to focus on his breathing, but he couldn't hear it over the music, the beat making him grind his teeth. Cullen's gaze found Cassandra, and he tried to signal her, tell her he wasn't doing okay, but she was looking intently into the crowd, oblivious. He clutched his Coke, holding it tight to himself as he was jostled, realising only when a screech broke through the self-absorbed bubble around him that everyone in the little lounge area was getting up. He stood too, panicked, hand instinctively going to his belt. His fear only abated when he spotted the source of the noise; an overexcited elven girl, throwing herself at Leliana.  
Cullen sighed, embarrassed, stepping out of the way as the others moved forwards to greet the newcomers. He looked them over; the small elven girl, scruffy and grinning, was clutching onto Cassandra, who was awkwardly patting the elf's arm, looking bemused; a hulking Qunari who was nodding as Leliana rattled off the names of the group; and a gorgeous man, who was looking right back at Cullen.  
Quickly dropping his eyes back to the floor, Cullen fought down a blush, inwardly groaning as the man stepped closer, hoping he wouldn't be able to see his flushed cheeks in the dim light.  
“Dorian” came a pleasant voice from beside him, calling over the music, accompanying a hand that was thrust out towards him. Cullen took the hand after a minute, shaking it hesitantly, enjoying the coolness of the man- Dorian's- many rings against his palm.  
“Cullen” he mumbled back, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the pulsating lights of the dance floor.  
Dorian seemed unperturbed by Cullen's evasiveness, sidling up so that their shoulders almost touched. Cullen tried to shuffle a little to the side, frustrated when his movement was impeded by the couch he was leaning against.  
“Are you a friend of Leliana's?” Dorian half-yelled into his ear, gesturing to the small group that now surrounded Iron Bull and Leliana. Cullen shook his head, instead pointing to Cassandra.  
“I don't know Leliana at all, but Cassandra didn't want to turn up alone”.  
Dorian nodded, “I don't know Leliana either, unfortunately. I just promised Bull that I'd come out tonight. The brute thinks I work too much, he just doesn't understand that one can be passionate about one's job”. He sniffed indignantly, turning back to look at Cullen. He nodded blankly, Dorian's words drowned out by the thudding bass line. Dorian attempted to repeat himself, and again Cullen heard nothing, the music climbing. Dorian leaned in closer, his moustache tickling Cullen's cheek, making him blush again, and just as he began to repeat himself again, the bass dropped. The room shook with the heavy music and Dorian groaned. He glanced around, and Cullen did the same. With a jolt of panic he realised the party was moving out, some going towards the bar, others pushing to find a spot on the dance floor.  
“Would you like to go outside?” Dorian called to Cullen, almost yelling right into his ear, “that way we may actually be able to hear each other”.  
With a quick nod, Cullen moved off, relishing in the chance not only to avoid dancing, but to end the conversation with Dorian. He took a deep breath before diving into the madness of the dance floor. He created a path, pushing himself through the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to ignore the way that their faces twisted and distorted under the strobe lights. He was less than polite, working to put distance between himself and Dorian, hoping to lose him in the sea of club goers. _He's out of my league,_ he thought to himself, as he finally emerged from the dance floor, _the last thing I need is to get_ _into_ _some guy who I can't have._

 

_***_

__  
The air outside was cold, and Cullen was glad for the leather jacket that he had brought with him, tugging it closer about himself. He settled himself against the wall of the club and, making sure Dorian had not followed him out, tugged a bag of pills from his pocket. The pills glowed faintly, throwing a blue light onto his palm as he shook one out. Want curled in his chest and stomach as the little tablet of lyrium sung to him, and he had barely stuffed the bag back into his pocket before he was swallowing the pill, washing it down with a tasteless swig of Coke.  
The pill took effect immediately, with a wave of relief washing over Cullen, starting at his temples and slowly seeping down to his feet. He felt the light tickle of magic along his spine, and it soothed him, eased out the tension in his shoulders, cleared the pounding in his head, loosening his muscles so that he felt he may melt into the brick wall he leaned against. The malicious whispers of self-doubt faded away, gagged by the lyrium. He closed his eyes, searching blindly in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, simply enjoying the high as it took hold.  
It was as Cullen was lighting his cigarette that he heard Dorian come out, the pounding music growing suddenly louder before muffling again, as Dorian moved closer to Cullen. Cullen took a long drag of his cigarette, keeping his eyes closed as Dorian sidled up next to him. He felt something cold press into his palm, and his eyes snapped open. Dorian was handing him a can of drink.  
“I got a little spun around in that cesspool of a dance floor, so I thought I'd make use of it” he explained, holding up his own premix, “no matter how awful the alcohol in Ferelden is.”  
Cullen gave a hum of amusement, “I take it you're not from here, then?”.  
“He talks!” Dorian teased, “what gave it away? The accent? The absence of dog smell?”.  
Cullen snorted, relaxing further. He gave Dorian a lopsided grin, “so, where _are_ you from?”.  
Dorian pulled himself up, putting on a face of mock sincerity, “I am Dorian, scion of House Pavus, noble family of Tevinter”.  
“So, a magister, then?”  
Dorian shot Cullen a scathing look, “no, not a Magister; an A _ltus_. Do you truly belive that if I were a Tevinter Magister, running the great Imperium of Thedas, I would be slumming around in nightclubs in Denerim?”.  
Cullen stiffened, unsure if he had offended Dorian or not. “I- um...”  
Dorian's serious expression split, widening into a grin, “The answer is yes; Tevinter is shit”.  
Cullen chuckled, and the tension dissolved, the pair slipping into easy conversation. Cullen found that, even though Dorian talked a lot, and rather rapidly, he didn't mind, letting the Tevinter fill the gaps in the conversation, letting himself enjoy the pleasant tenor of Dorian's voice. Cullen avoided talk of his work, and was glad when Dorian didn't pry, and in return, he didn't press when Dorian dodged a question about his parents, burying his curiosity.  
Three cigarettes and two drink runs later, Dorian and Cullen were sat on the ground, backs against the wall of the club, Dorian curled under Cullen's arm and jacket, having gotten cold in his fashionably torn singlet.

“I will _never_ get used to Ferelden winters” he complained, “your summers are as cold as our winters”.  
“Oh, quit your whining” Cullen laughed, “You wouldn't be so cold if you'd worn an entire shirt”.  
Dorian scoffed, “someone had to showcase a decent fashion sense in this backward country; I was so selfless as to sacrifice my own well being for your kin!”.  
Cullen grinned, “well, I can't say I'm not glad for such a sacrifice”.  
Dorian smirked, “Is that so?”. He looked up at Cullen through his eyelashes.  
Cullen nodded, biting his lip. He went to take a drag of his cigarette, but Dorian caught his wrist, bringing the cigarette, and Cullen's hand to his mouth. Cullen's breath caught as Dorian took a pull of the cigarette, his lips pressed against Cullen's fingers, their eyes locked. Dorian released Cullen, tiny wisps of smoke escaping his mouth as he began to lean in, Cullen's eyes widening as Dorian's face drew closer-  
The moment was broken as the door to the club was thrown open, the huge Qunari's drunken laughter somehow louder than the music from the club. Cullen quickly jerked back, cigarette crumpling as his hands closed into fists. Dorian's face was twisted in irritation as their friends came closer, smoke blowing out of his nose; Cullen would have laughed at the image if he hadn't been so disappointed himself.  
The Qunari- Iron Bull, as Dorian had introduced him- sauntered over towards the pair, shadowed by the scruffy elf; an elf which was stumbling along with an amazonian Qunari woman. Cullen and Dorian hurriedly tried to disentangle themselves.  
“What's this then?” Bull boomed, grinning lecherously down at the two men.  
“Nothing” Dorian snapped, standing abruptly, only wobbling slightly, “are we going?”.  
Iron Bull nodded, continuing to look at Cullen, a shit eating grin stretched across his face. Cullen glared back, maintaining his position on the ground. Eventually, Iron Bull gave in, shrugging and moving off, gently guiding the elf and her friend towards a waiting taxi.  
Once his friends had moved off, Dorian's proud stature slumped, and he leaned back against the wall, looking crestfallen. Cullen looked up at him, not sure what to do.  
“I'm sorry” Dorian groaned, his forlorn gaze locked on the ground.  
Cullen's brow furrowed, he stood, “for what?” he asked slowly.  
Dorian shook his head, throwing a furtive glance at Cullen before looking back at the ground. Cullen's stomach dropped as he realised that Dorian's eyes were brimming with tears. Setting his jaw, he took a step forwards, placing his hand on Dorian's shoulder, beginning to lean in. The Tevinter shook him off, giving him a sad smile, eyes never moving from the ground.  
“Perhaps I'll see you around, sometime”.  
Cullen stilled, dumbstruck, as Dorian wobbled his way to the taxi. And he was frozen, confused, as he let the most gorgeous man he had ever met climb into the taxi and be whisked away into the night.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title named after "Boys Don't Cry" because I was listening to The Cure, and it seemed relevant.
> 
> From now on, I'm going to name the chapters with a song that I listen to while writing them, making sure they're at least a little relevant, cause I'm cliche as fuck.


	2. A Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spur-of-the-moment date! Dorian is flirty, and Cullen blushes a lot, because of course he does. Basically, this whole chapter is a pile of semi-inappropriate fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you spot any mistakes, or anything seems out of character, please tell me! I write and edit these alone, so I may miss things. Thank you!

Dorian glared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, the room spinning around him. He kept his pillow firmly clamped around his ears, trying in vain to block out the sounds of Denerim that leaked in through his window. His head pounded, and every movement made his stomach churn. Oh yes, once again, Dorian Pavus was extremely hungover.  
He pulled himself from the bed, groaning as he felt his stomach slosh around. _Never again,_ he scolded himself, knowing as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it was a lie. Getting shakily to his feet, Dorian began the slow shuffle to the bathroom, his eyes puffy, hair a twisted mess atop his head. He deliberately avoided looking at the mirror as he retrieved the _Root-Eze_ elfroot tablets from the cabinet, dry-swallowing two in a desperate attempt to ease his building headache.  
Dorian eventually made his way to the kitchen, dragging himself onto a stool before letting his head and arms sprawl out onto the island counter, the cool marble soothing against his face.  
A low chuckle from Iron Bull pulled Dorian from his self-pity. He turned, glowering at the qunari, who stood smirking at him from the kettle.  
“Pray tell” he slurred, “why is it that _you_ never seem to be hungover?”.  
“I tell you this every time, 'Vint” Bull grinned, clapping Dorian on the back, making the mage wince, “bigger body mass. I can handle my booze better than you ever could with that little human body”.  
Dorian groaned, turning his face back to the counter, gratefully wrapping his hands around the mug of coffee that Bull pushed towards him. Dorian took a sip, face twisting in distaste.  
“Your coffees are always so cold” he complained, casting a basic fire spell, his hands pressed to the sides of the mug, heating up the liquid. The sides of the ceramic mug were blackened from the sheer amount of times he'd completed this morning ritual.  
Bull smiled into his cup “one day you're gonna burn yourself bad, Dorian”.  
“Fire cannot kill a dragon” Dorian shot back, taking a long draught from his now steaming coffee.  
“Yea yea, Danaerys” the qunari muttered, rolling his eyes.  
A pleasant silence stretched between the pair. They sipped their coffees quietly, and Dorian closed his eyes as the elfroot began to take effect, twisting through his skull and easing the pounding behind his eyes. Sunlight poured in from the kitchen window and Dorian bathed in it, enjoying the warmth on his golden skin as he watched Iron Bull scroll through a dating site on his phone. It was only when Dorian's stomach broke the silence that he realised he was hungry. He clutched at his middle, squirming with discomfort, when he was suddenly inspired.  
“You know” Dorian started slowly, looking coyly up at Iron Bull, “croissants would complement this coffee nicely”.  
Bull looked up from his phone and hummed in approval, reaching for his wallet on the counter. Dorian brightened, smiling expectantly up at Bull, only for his face to fall when the qunari stopped, turning back to face him.  
“Your shout”.  
“By what logic?” Dorian spluttered indignantly.  
“By the logic that you were too busy moping last night to chip in for the taxi” Bull teased.  
Dorian glowered at him, “I would have had no reason to mope had you not interrupted me!”. When Iron Bull stayed silent, smirk plastered on his face, Dorian changed tactics. “And I feel so unwell, Bull” he whined, batting his eyelashes, “can't we make Sera go?”.  
Bull raised an eyebrow, “don't you think she's a little busy?”. He jerked his thumb behind him, where giggles and the creak of bedsprings were trailing down the hall, “her friend never went home”.  
The Tevinter looked from the qunari, to the hall, searching desperately for an excuse. When he found none, he sighed, conceding. With a final, hopeless look at Bull, he slid off the stool, shoulders slumped in defeat, and went to get ready.

 

***

 

Dorian trudged down the steps of his apartment building, swaddled tightly in a heavy coat and scarf, trying in vain to protect himself against the bitterly cold wind that swept through Denerim. He ambled along the footpath, heading for the small bakery from which he, Sera and Bull always got their 'morning after' treats. This was a route he knew well, the main street holding some of his favourite haunts; the bar, a coffee shop, and a small florist, which he loved especially because of the crystal grace which always sat outside. He eventually reached the flower shop and, as always, bunches of flowers crowded the shop front, and a wreath of crystal grace hung on the door. Dorian stepped closer, closing his eyes and leaning in to smell the wreath, the sweet scent curling in the air around his head. He smiled, breathing in deeply, opening up his eyes again, and as he did, he stopped dead in shock.  
There, in the shop, stood the handsome man from the night before. Cullen. Dorian watched him through the glass door, face obscured by the wreath. Cullen spoke animatedly with the elf behind the counter, holding a cardboard box full of flowerpots in his arms. Dorian appraised the way his muscles flexed as he shifted the box. Cullen laughed, the sound carrying a little through the door, before nodding to the elf, moving into the back of the shop. Dorian couldn't help but appreciate the way Cullen's jeans hugged his rear.  
The mage found himself faced with a dilemma. He remembered he had been a little less than polite in his farewell to Cullen, not even giving his phone number. Dorian could continue to the bakery, buy his food and find another route, another florist to sniff at, and pretend that he had never seen Cullen. Could avoid all the awkwardness of “we almost did, but we didn't”.  
Or -Dorian's stomach fluttered just a little at the word- or, he could walk into the shop, greet the muscular blond, and take him out. To a movie, or to dinner, or to bed. Or all three. Definitely all three. This final thought was accompanied by the tinkling of a bell as Dorian pushed his way into the shop.  
Inside, the smell of flowers was almost overwhelming. More wreathes of crystal grace hung above the counter, and pots full of dawn lotus and embrium lined the walls. Several bushels of prophet's laurel were arranged around the counter, making it look more like a hedge than anything. The small elf looked at Dorian as he inspected the shop, her vine-like vallaslin making her cheeks look even rounder as she smiled up at him.  
“How can I help you?” she asked quietly. Dorian didn't miss the way her eyes passed up and down his form, nor the way they lingered on his tight jeans. He smirked.  
“I'm looking for Cullen” he said simply, offering her a wide smile. He especially didn't miss the way her polite expression broke into a shit eating grin, her eyes narrowing.  
With a knowing nod, she turned, striding into the back room of the store, where Dorian could hear boxes being moved around. “Cullen” she called in sing-song, bouncing on the balls of her feet, which Dorian now noticed were completely bare. She flounced back to the counter, looking expectantly at the doorway to the back. She bobbed excitedly, and Dorian would have laughed, had he not been impatient himself.  
Cullen broke into the room with a confused “what?”, stopping dead when his eyes found Dorian. Colour rushed to his cheeks, painting them, and the tips of his ears, a delicious red-pink. Though it surprised Dorian, seeing a grown man blush so, he took in the sight eagerly.  
“I thought” he began, giving Cullen his best crooked smile, “that perhaps you would like to accompany me for some coffee? In apology for my appalling behaviour last night”. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, inciting a giggle from the elf.  
Cullen opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His hand went to the back of his neck, “I.. um.” He looked to the elf, downcast, “I'm actually working right now”.  
“No you're not” the elf retorted, smiling innocently at the blond. His eyebrows shot up, and he looked at her in surprise.  
“What? But… I've still got an hour to go, Lillith”.  
Lillith waved her hand dismissively, “it's Sunday, Cullen. I can hold down the fort here”. She gestured up to Dorian, “go on a date with a hot guy”, Cullen opened his mouth to object, she cut him off, “cause if you don't, I will”.  
Cullen nodded, accepting defeat, and Dorian beamed at him. The blond gave a nervous smile in response, ducking into the back room to retrieve his things. Dorian leaned on the counter, giddy.  
“Thank you” he said to Lillith, keeping his voice low.  
“No, thank you” she replied, giving him a strange look, “it's been far too long since Cullen has been out. It'll be good for him to get his mind off things. He needs someone nice”.  
Dorian was about to ask about some of these 'things', but he was stopped by Cullen stepping back into the room. If Dorian had thought he looked nice before, he was stunning now. The blond was dressed in figure hugging jeans, artfully faded and torn at the knees. The black t-shirt he wore clung to his muscled chest, layered under a plaid shirt, which again was under a thick jacket, the hood lined with an immense fur trim. To top it off, he wore a loose beanie, one which, just then, Dorian realised he hadn't seen him without before. Cullen noticed Dorian's appraisal, looking strangely abashed.  
“Sorry” he mumbled, “I didn't realise I'd be going out today, otherwise I would have dressed better”.  
Dorian stifled his guffaw, instead reaching out to take Cullen's arm. With a final, thankful look to Lillith, he led Cullen out the door, and into the crisp morning air.

 

***

 

The two sat in amicable silence as they perused their menus. Dorian would occasionally glance at Cullen, drinking in the blond's beauty. And the man was undeniably gorgeous, with his amber eyes, angular face, and the light smattering of freckles on his cheek. After a few minutes of this, he caught Cullen's eye, and the deep blush that seeped up into the man's cheeks affirmed that he had been doing the exact same sneaky manoeuvre. Dorian gave Cullen a dazzling smile, completely unabashed.  
“What are you ordering, my dear man?” Dorian asked, hands clasped over his closed menu.  
Cullen closed his own menu hesitantly, keeping his eyes trained on the pleather cover. Dorian tried to catch his eye, but Cullen's gaze was firmly locked on his hands.  
“Just a coffee” he said in a small voice, refusing to meet Dorian's eyes. The mage frowned.  
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he leaned forward, voice low and sincere. Cullen's head shot up at the sudden chance in tone. “Because if you don't want to be here” Dorian continued, resting his head on his clasped hands, “if I completely misread you the other night, and you are, in fact, straight, just say so, and we can part”. Though the idea of parting from the blond strangely pained Dorian, he was not one to make someone uncomfortable, past his usual flirting.  
Cullen's brow furrowed, and he looked up at Dorian, honey brown eyes troubled. He reached forward tentatively, gently taking Dorian's hand in his. Dorian found himself strangely enjoying the way Cullen's calloused fingers felt against his skin. Unconsciously, he turned his hand over, entwining his fingers with the blond's. Cullen froze at the unexpected move, the blush returning to his cheeks, but he quickly recovered, clearing his throat.  
“Dorian” he started, and the mage shivered, a thrill running through him at the way Cullen's accent twisted around his name, “I like you. As much as I can from talking once. And I would very much get to know you. I just...” Cullen blushed, ducking his head. Dorian squeezed his hand in reassurance, urging him to go on, “I haven't done this in a long time. And what you saw of me last night. I'm not like that… normally”.  
The Tevinter nodded. Cullen had been quite different the night before, now that he reflected on it. Far more confident, suave. Dorian would have blamed it on the alcohol, had Cullen not been completely sober that night. He looked to the blond, who was watching him nervously, and offered him a warm smile.  
“Cullen, I'm not asking you for your hand in marriage” he teased gently, “I simply wanted to take the second most handsome man in Ferelden out for coffee”.  
Cullen chuckled, rubbing his face to hide his flush, “am I correct in assuming _you_ are then the most handsome man in Ferelden?”.  
Dorian mock gasped, playfully pushing Cullen's shoulder, “gorgeous _and_ smart! My my, I have found myself quite a catch.”  
Cullen snorted, blush deepening. Dorian prodded his cheek curiously, “Every time I think they can't get any redder” he mused, “they do”.  
Cullen opened his mouth to retort, but their coffees arrived at that moment, so he bit his tongue, smiling and politely thanking the waitress. Dorian, while the waitresses' back was turned, childishly stuck his tongue out at Cullen. He relished in the way Cullen's eyes immediately shot to the golden bar that was threaded through his tongue, the blond's unmistakeable blush making Dorian wish he could read whatever obscene thoughts were going through Cullen's head. Alas, if only there were a spell for that.  
Once the waitress had walked away, Cullen leaned forwards, looking intently at Dorian. The Tevinter stilled under Cullen's gaze, watching as he took in the gold studs that adorned Dorian's ears, and the golden ring that pierced his nostril.  
“Did they...” Cullen made a twirling motion with his hand, gesturing to his face, “did they hurt?”.  
Dorian gave Cullen a bemused look, “no, getting needles through my flesh didn't hurt one bit”. Cullen rolled his eyes, hiding his look of embarrassment. “They didn't hurt terribly” Dorian finally amended, tugging absently at his nose ring, “but that may or may not have been the numbing spell I used before I got them done”. He gave Cullen a sheepish grin, eyes narrowing in confusion as Cullen stiffened. He opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but Cullen quickly cut him off.  
“Are they the only piercings you have?”.  
Dorian knew full well that Cullen had only asked him that as a means of deflection, _but_ , he thought to himself, _why not have a little fun with it?_. He flashed Cullen a coy smile, leaning forwards, lowering his voice to scarcely a whisper.  
“You'll just have to find out later”.  
Blood rushed to Cullen's cheeks, and Dorian could see the flush standing out in the man's neck. He smirked, pleased with himself, delighting in the stiff way Cullen nodded, and how he squirmed in sudden discomfort. The Ferelden's earnestness was refreshing, and he found that he was enjoying tormenting the man far too much.

 

***

 

The coffee date drew to a close, too soon for Dorian's liking. Cullen had offered to walk Dorian back to his apartment, and he had quickly accepted, internally scolding himself for being so transparently eager.  
The pair ambled along the streets, hands brushing every now and then, every pass sending a tingle up Dorian's arm. He took them through back roads, despite his apartment being directly down the main street, not wanting to say goodbye to the sweet blond man. Dorian knew this was ridiculous; he had Cullen's number (cheekily saved under “Hot Ferelden Ass”), so he had the means to see him again, but he still didn't want him to leave.  
They eventually reached Dorian's apartment building, and the mage looked glumly up at _Skyhold Apartments,_ wishing for just one more hour.  
“Dorian” came Cullen's quiet voice from behind him, hesitant. Dorian whirled around, quickly fixing his expression into something a little more becoming.  
“Yes?” his voice was a little too bright, sounding false. Cullen's mouth quirked in response, but he continued.  
“Why...” he took a deep breath, “why did you cry? Last night? If I upset you or offended you in any way...”.  
Dorian groaned internally. Blast it. He remembered being disappointed. He remembered being rude. He remembered moping all the way back to the apartment, but Andraste's tits, he did not remember having cried. Cullen was looking at him expectantly, and Dorian scrambled for an excuse.  
Dorian quickly shot Cullen a broad smile. “Well,” he began, scrabbling for anything that came to mind, “I was just extremely disappointed that such a moment between us should have been broken by my friend's interruption. I suppose the alcohol got the better of me”.  
He looked hopefully at Cullen. While it was the truth, he just hoped it stretched enough to allow for the crying. He had no idea how bad _that_ had been. The blond looked bemused. Cullen suddenly grabbed Dorian's arm, gently tugging him off the main street, pulling them into a little alley that ran between two buildings. He turned quickly to the Tevinter, face still unreadable.  
“You were… disappointed?” he murmured, “disappointed that we didn't kiss?”.  
Dorian nodded slowly, confused, unsure of the direction of Cullen's thoughts.  
Suddenly, Cullen's face split, and he beamed at Dorian. The mage sucked in a gasp. Cullen's smile, the first true smile he had given him, was gorgeous, breathtaking, the deep scar that intersected the man's top lip somehow adding to its charm. Dorian was a little dazed.  
“I guess I'll have to rectify that”.  
Cullen's voice broke through Dorian's trance only long enough for him to register that the Ferelden was a lot closer to him than he remembered. He began to ask what Cullen meant, but was silenced by the press of Cullen's lips against his own.  
Dorian squeaked in surprise, frozen at first, but he quickly regained his wits, returning the kiss with fervour. Cullen's lips were slightly chapped, sending a thrill up his spine, heart fluttering in his chest. Cullen's muscled arms tentatively snaked their way around Dorian's waist, so he pressed closer to the blond, encouraging him. He responded in kind, and Dorian internally cheered as he felt Cullen's hard body press closer to his own, arms tightening around his back. Dorian made to deepen the kiss, trailing his tongue along Cullen's bottom lip, but the blond's mouth curled up into a smile and he pulled back. Dorian chased the kiss, managing a quick peck before Cullen ducked away, pressing his lips softly to Dorian's cheek.  
“Wow” Dorian breathed, still firmly twisted up with the blond.  
Cullen chuckled, bending to quickly kiss Dorian again, keeping it chaste and sweet. It made Dorian's heart sing.  
“I” Cullen growled, “have wanted to do that all day”.  
Dorian stared up at the man incredulously, “then why didn't you?”.  
Cullen's face fell just a fraction. He sighed, “I was worried you didn't want it. I thought I overstepped a boundary last night”.  
Dorian pulled back, puzzled, “So, I show up at your work, unexpectedly. Your boss and I bully you into coming on a date with me. I make suggestive jokes the entire time and you worry _I_ don't want it?”. When Cullen nodded, Dorian laughed, the sound soft and endearing. “You are far too sweet for your own good.”  
Cullen's answering smile was small and self-conscious, so Dorian quickly put his hand to the blond's neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Cullen's response was far less innocent this time. As Dorian made to deepen the kiss again, Cullen allowed it, parting his lips ever so slightly as Dorian swept his tongue along them. Cullen gently bit Dorian's bottom lip and the mage groaned, pulling Cullen even tighter as the blond started to walk forwards, crowding Dorian against the alley wall. With the hard bricks at his back, and Cullen's hard stomach at his front, Dorian was blissful, closing himself off from anything but the quiet sighs from Cullen, and the feeling of their lips pressed together. And the buzzing against his thigh.  
“Kaffas!” he hissed against Cullen's mouth. He broke the kiss with an apologetic look towards Cullen, pulling his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with a new message:  
  
_From: Pain In My Ass_  
To: 0418256729  
  
_Sera, Tamaan and I are hungry and hungover_. _It's been two hours._ _Either you're dead, or you're going to be_

  
2:23 PM  
  
Dorian groaned, “again, Iron Bull is the biggest cockblock I have ever met”.  
Cullen tilted his head in confusion.  
“The lumbering qunari that so rudely interrupted us last night” Dorian explained.  
“Ah”. Cullen smiled sadly, “I suppose you'll have to be getting back then?”.  
“Indeed” Dorian sighed, “he should be glad I even remembered to go to the bakery. It has been so hard to think with such a distracting companion”.  
Cullen blushed, ducking his head as he smiled, but made no move to release Dorian, keeping the Tevinter pinned against the brick.  
“I do really have to go” he said sadly, “if I'm not up there soon, being hungover will be the least of my worries”.  
Cullen finally took a step back, reluctantly freeing Dorian. Though, much to Dorian's perverse pleasure, the blond let one of his hands trail down Dorian's back as he moved forwards, ever so gently squeezing his backside. The mage jumped in surprise, shooting a suggestive smile over his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows. Cullen snorted, giving Dorian's arse another playful squeeze.  
Once they'd rounded the corner, Cullen left Dorian at the steps to his apartment, giving him a final, soft kiss. It was gentle and earnest, and it made Dorian's head spin. They bade quiet goodbyes, Cullen's accompanied by a soft blush, giving each other's hands a gentle squeeze. Dorian watched Cullen as he walked away, not turning into his apartment until the blond had faded into the distance.

 

***

 

Inside, Dorian gladly bore Iron Bull's irritation, not even flinching when Sera suggested they gore him on one of Bull's horns. His afternoon went by in a blur, nothing mattering to him but the way he still remembered Cullen's lips on his. The way his cheeks still tingled from where Cullen's rough stubble had brushed them. The way his clothes still carried the faintest scent of Cullen; aftershave, mint, and something that could only be described as “outdoors”. And as Dorian lay in bed that night, tracing the paths Cullen's hands had taken over his torso, he realised something. Something which didn't scare him nearly as much as he'd have thought it would.  
He had feelings for Cullen Rutherford.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled "A Forest" cause I was listening to The Cure when I wrote this, and plants.


	3. In Between Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds it really really REALLY hard to text first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, guys. I just couldn't figure out how to continue from the last chapter, plus Christmas and stuff kind of took over my life for the entirety of December. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit of an interlude. Sorry that it's so short, but I've been struggling a little with this fic. Really, there is almost no progression on the plot, so you can skip it if you want to, the progress is gonna be recapped at the start of next chapter anyway. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it, and hope it makes up for the long silence at least a little bit!
> 
> I'd love if you could point out any mistakes or out-of-characterness- I write and edit these alone, so I may miss stuff!

Dorian sat with his phone in his hand, slumped on the counter of the empty bookshop. He sighed as he opened up his inbox which, despite receiving a regular flow of incoming messages, was absent of a particular Ferelden. He clicked on the one message from “ _Hot Ferelden Ass”,_ looking at the little “Hey, it's Cullen :)” glumly.  
Three days since their coffee date, and Dorian had heard hide nor hair of Cullen, and he was getting antsy. He typed in “hi” more times than he could count, but deleted it as many. He would not chase, he vowed to himself, he was to _be_ chased. By this point, normally, he would have gotten a message, been 'round, fucked, and washed his hands of the whole business. Why he was so fixated on this apparently uninterested man was beyond him. A cough pulled Dorian from his wallowing and his head snapped up, coming face to face with Varric. Dorian smiled sheepishly, stowing his phone in the pocket of his chinos.  
“Still haven't heard from prince charming, huh?” Varric laughed, the dwarf coming to lean next to Dorian. The mage groaned, letting his head fall to the countertop with a dull thud.  
“For the last time” he began, his voice muffled, “I will not 'just text him'. There are intricacies when it comes to these things, rules, you of all people-”.  
The dwarf chuckled dryly, cutting off the spiel, “I get it, Sparkler. Take turns, play by the rules, don't 'seem too desperate'. But you ever thought that maybe this guy doesn't like playing the game?”.  
Dorian sniffed indignantly, sitting up and fixing the smaller man with a glare, “I know men, Varric. A good chase makes the…” he faltered, pursing his lips as he searched for the right word, “end that much more gratifying”.  
Varric held up his hands in surrender, straightening up, “I'm not saying that you don't.”  
The mage gave him a curt nod, turning his attention to the front of the shop, where the gentle tinkling of a bell indicated a customer coming in. The dwarf sighed, moving from Dorian's side towards the back room of the shop. He stopped at the door, fixing Dorian with a stony look over his shoulder. The Tevinter shrunk a little under his gaze.  
“Maybe” his voice was low, barely audible above the approaching voices of the customers, “consider that you might not know this one”.  
Dorian had to hide his confusion as the patrons made their way to the counter, quickly fixing his face into the mask of professional politeness. His personal turmoils could wait until his lunch break.

 

***

 

The silence that seemed to radiate from Dorian's phone ate at him all day. He stopped checking it, eventually all but throwing it into his bag in anger. He struggled to keep his dour mood in check when dealing with customers, but he received numerous strange looks and snappy remarks throughout the day, only serving to further sour his outlook. He even managed to incite a comment from his favourite customer, Wynne; whom had fixed him with a hard glare, pursing her lips before quietly telling him that “such an expression is unbecoming”. Seemingly innocuous, but Dorian did his best to snap out of it after she swept out of the shop.  
Even Varric left him alone as he worked, but he could occasionally feel the dwarf's eyes on his back, changing from amusement, to concern, to, eventually, irritation. Dorian sighed heavily. Everyone was pissed off today.

***

 

When closing time rolled around, Dorian practically threw himself from the shop, locking up so quickly that he almost forgot his bag, such was his hurry to be home and in the embrace of drunkenness.  
As he strode towards the bus station, face buried in his scarf against the winter chill, Dorian couldn't help but check his phone. He pulled it from his shoulder bag, impatient as it slowly came to life. His heart leapt into his throat when his screen lit up with three messages, only for it to sink back down to his feet when he saw that none were from “ _Text Me, You Arsehole”,_ which he had retitled Cullen as in a fit of petty rage. Instead, he had a message from Bull, asking if he wanted to go out with he, Sera and Tamaan that night, a loaded “are you free tonite?” from Rilenius, and a message from his father. He deleted his father's message, typed out a quick negative to Bull and ignored Rilenius' message, before opening the one message thread with Cullen again. He boarded the bus while still staring at the screen, ignoring the bus driver's filthy look as he absently handed over his travel card. As Dorian stood on the bus, swaying with the tilts and turns of the vehicle, his attention stayed on his phone. He typed out a message, slowly and deliberately. He rephrased it multiple times, editing his type, changing from text speak to full words and back again. He added emoticons, changed them, removed them. His entire twenty minute transit he spent absorbed in typing the perfect hello to Cullen, and, as his thumb hovered over the 'send' button, the bus shuddered to a halt at his stop. With an angry huff, he deleted the message, shoving his phone into his pocket and storming off the bus.

 

***

 

Even the haze of alcohol couldn't pull Dorian from his bad mood. He sprawled on the couch, bucket-like glass of red wine held precariously in one hand, stewing in his own self-pity as the sounds of an obscure Dalish band filled the empty apartment. His phone lay on his chest, ever silent and still. He thought of Cullen, though he tried not to. He replayed their kisses over and over in his head, the slip from hesitance and caution to plain lust. He rubbed his cheeks, remembering the way Cullen's light stubble had scratched pleasantly, leaving them tingling and pink. He drunk deeply from his glass.  
Suddenly, Dorian snapped. He couldn't take it anymore. He snapped upright, trying to ignore the way the alcohol made his head spin sluggishly. He wasn't sure if it was impatience, alcohol, or just plain want for the man, but Dorian snatched up his phone from where it had fallen onto the couch, opening up the conversation with Cullen for what felt to be the millionth time.  
Quickly, before he could have second thoughts, he typed a quick “hi :)”, sending it before throwing his phone down, not looking at it as it bounced on the cushions. He scooped up his wine glass, draining it before refilling it generously, trying to calm his pounding heart. Settling himself back onto the couch, he vowed that he would not look at his phone again until morning; though he would not make Cullen chase him, he told himself, he would make him wait. Maintain at least a little of his hard-won pride.  
As he turned off the music and switched the television on, Varric's words circled around his head. Odd that the dwarf, who had shown no interest in Dorian's romantic- if they could be called that, Dorian thought- pursuits other than a passing question or joke, would go so far as to try and give him advice on someone Dorian had known for a week.  
He sighed, shaking the thoughts from his head. Such wonderings were not meant for when one was in their cups, he thought, as he took a long draught from his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled "In Between Days" cause of The Cure- it seemed to fit the 'intermission' nature of the chapter.


	4. Days Before You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen feeds his addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but here it is. I've already started the next chapter, so hopefully the gap won't be too big next time.
> 
> In my head, I imagine lyrium would have similar effects to speedball. It has the rush of euphoria and stimulation like cocaine, but also gets rid of inhibitions and anxiety like morphine or alcohol. Also, it's been shown that people can function normally while using lyrium canonically (by the Templars using it) which is how Cullen is able to dose up and go to work.
> 
> A quick point of clarification- Thereinfal Redoubt in this fic is a seedy club. It felt fitting.

Euphoria. That was what Cullen would have described it as if asked. Euphoria, and the feeling of invulnerability; that's what lyrium gave him. Cullen bounced around his house, riding the crest of his high- his last one, he had told himself beforehand, anything to get the malicious whispers in his head to stop- doing as much as he could while he felt so good. His place would quickly fall back into its natural dismal state once he came down, when he no longer had the energy nor the motivation to do anything more than lie on his sofa bed until he had to work.  
He had been low during Dorian's silence, the lack of communication between them all he needed to confirm his fears. He had read Dorian wrong. He'd forced himself on Dorian. Dorian had only reciprocated because he pitied Cullen. Was scared of him. Looked down at him. Cullen had wanted to reach out, dispel his worries, but as the silence stretched, and his courage waned, the ex-Templar had realised Dorian just didn't want him. The soft song of the blue had been too good to ignore, as always, and eventually he'd given in. Just one last time.  
For the three days this had been Cullen's cycle. Wake up, get high, work, come home, crash, sleep, repeat. And it worked. It set back his quitting deadline by quite a bit, but at least he was distracted from the sting of rejection, and the revitalised whispers of self-loathing that accompanied it. Besides, what was one more pill, one more bump, if it helped ease the pain? The Cullen of the past would have been disgusted with the lame excuses to keep using, but the Cullen of the present didn't care. It made him happy, just for a little while.  
Cullen woke on the fourth day of silence feeling more tired than when he went to sleep. He'd crashed hard just before he'd gone to bed, and with his stash depleted, he'd had no choice but to sleep, knowing that he'd have the early pains of withdrawal to greet him in the morning. He groaned, carefully rolling himself over so he wouldn't fall off the thin sofa-bed, and snatched up his phone. He flicked it open, squinting as the light of the little flip phone stung his bleary eyes. Thursday. The shop would be closed today, which meant that Cullen had the day to try and organise with his dealer, and the remainder to lie around and stare at his broken TV. He'd meant to get it fixed, but once his neighbours had found out he was leeching their cable, there hadn't really been much worth watching. As he went to close his phone, a small, blinking light caught his attention. He had a message. Trying not to get his hopes up, Cullen mashed a button, opening up his inbox.  
  
_From: Dorian_  
To: 0456726890  
  
hi :)

 

 _10:23 PM_  
  
Cullen's heart skipped in his chest, and he felt stupid that such an innocuous message should get such a reaction out of him, but it was from _Dorian._ He supposed that he should have been peeved, having had to wait four days to hear from the man, but he couldn't bring himself to be anything other than intensely relieved. Even the brevity of the message couldn't dampen the elation that was growing in his chest. The fatigue Cullen had woken with was forgotten as he hurried to answer.  
Quickly opening up a new message, Cullen typed out a reply, unable to keep the wide grin off of his face.  
  
_From: 0456726890_  
To: Dorian  
  
_Hey, I was hoping to hear from you. How are you?_  
  
9:45 AM  
  
Eagerly pushing the send button, Cullen climbed to his feet, groaning as his back popped painfully. He stumbled into his little kitchen, keeping his phone in hand as he opened up his fridge, taking out the last of his milk. He set about making himself a coffee, boiling the water in a little pot on his stove, bouncing just a little on the balls of his feet. While the water boiled, he lit up a cigarette, smiling around it as his phone buzzed on the counter next to him.  
  
_From: Dorian_  
To: 0456726890  
  
im well, despite ur message waking me up. And u? Also, r u free today ; _)_  
  
9:52 AM  
  
Cullen could almost feel his face splitting from how wide he was smiling, a slight blush staining his cheeks at the little emoticon. He held his cigarette between his teeth, coffee forgotten momentarily as he carefully typed out his response.  
  
_From: 04567268_  
To: Dorian  
  
I'm good, sorry for waking you. I have nothing planned, what did you have in mind?  
  
9:56 AM  
  
He cursed the tiny buttons on his phone as he texted, accidentally scrolling to “v” instead of “u” in his impatience. He quickly sent off the message and set to work making his drink, whistling as he bustled around his kitchen. Maker, when was the last time he'd whistled? As his phone buzzed, signalling Dorian's response, Cullen half-heartedly worried that the smile would be plastered on his face all day. And so, as he opened his inbox to read the latest message, Cullen's morning devolved into a back and forth with Dorian.

_***_

 

If he had been the type, Cullen would be doing air punches. As it was, he was barely able to sit still. He bounced around his little house, tidying, reorganising and generally fidgeting. He had hours before it would be appropriate to show up in Denerim, and even longer until the film he was seeing with Dorian began ( _The Last Crow of Antiva_ ). At one point, in a fit of restless boredom, he decided that he was finally going to fix the hole in his bedroom ceiling. However, one look at the hole, and the way the mould had now extended past the hole and down the wall, made Cullen turn tail and run. No, there was no way he'd be moving from his sofa-bed in the lounge room any time soon.  
When 3 o'clock rolled around, Cullen decided he couldn't stand waiting any more. He threw on his outfit, grimacing at the hole in the knee of his least ratty pair of jeans, and, making sure his curly hair was tucked securely into his beanie, he set out.  
Cullen stepped out of his house and into the brisk afternoon air. He pulled his jacket a little tighter around him, leaving his front door unlocked- anything worth taking had long since been pawned off- as he set off towards the street. Keeping his head down, Cullen hurried towards the town centre, unable to keep his excitement from quickening his pace. The sun was finally out of hiding, warming up the frozen streets of Amaranthine, and as Cullen walked, he watched the way the sunlight made the black ice sparkle subtly. Even the possibility of slipping couldn't dampen his mood, not when seeing Dorian was just a train trip away.  
The town square was bustling when Cullen finally breached it. Despite the chill of the wind, people were out and about, hurrying between the market stalls, chatting outside of cafe's and otherwise

milling about. Cullen wove carefully through the crowds, taking care to move on the outside of the square, keeping his eyes firmly ahead of him. Despite his good mood, crowds always set him on edge.  
As Cullen turned towards the train station stairs, a wave of nausea swept over him. He lurched forwards, grabbing onto the handrail, clutching a hand to his stomach. Withdrawal. He looked at his watch, anxiety grabbing him when he realised the time; it had been over 24 hours since he'd taken any lyrium. The longest he'd been without it in weeks. Cullen swore under his breath, trying to fight down the shakiness that his discovery had brought on. He couldn't see anyone like this, especially not Dorian.  
He groaned, sending an internal curse to the Maker. He couldn't stand Dorian up, but he couldn't see him sober either. Not with his withdrawals promising to get worse. His dealer wouldn't have any for him on such short notice. Cullen could only think of one person who had any blue. The last person Cullen wanted to see now; or ever, for that matter.  
“Andraste's arse” he hissed to himself as he pushed himself up from the handrail. Cullen shoved his hands into his pockets angrily, far less careful as he pushed back into the crowd. With a final, furtive glance at the train station steps, the blond sauntered towards where he knew he would find _him_.

 

***

 

Raleigh Samson was exactly where he always was, and as Cullen approached Thereinfal Redoubt, he couldn't keep his revulsion hidden.  
“That sneer permanent now?” Samson jeered as pushed himself off the club's wall, stepping towards Cullen. As he moved out from the alley and into the sun, Cullen gasped in horror.  
“Maker, what happened to you?”.  
While Samson had never looked particularly healthy in the time Cullen had known him, he looked far worse now. His hair was long and oily, tied back in a messy knot at the back of his head. His teeth were even more yellowed, his lips dry and cracked. But what disturbed Cullen the most was his eyes. The skin around them was red, raised and split like scales, and his eyes themselves were bloodshot. He looked horrible.  
“What happened to me?” Samson laughed, the sound hoarse and unpleasant, “what happened to you, Rutherford? Last time I saw you you beat the shit outta me and told me you were kicking the blue. And now you're here.” Samson flashed Cullen a wicked, toothy grin, “so, you buying?”.  
Cullen tensed, his shoulders hunching as an angry flush rushed to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to argue, deny Samson any satisfaction, but all that came out of his mouth was “yes”.  
Samson cackled, throwing his head back in derisive laughter. Cullen seethed as Samson continued to laugh, his shoulders almost touching his ears as he curled in on himself in anger. The older man eventually stopped laughing, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. Still smirking at Cullen, he reached behind him, snatching up a satchel that sat against the wall behind him. From it, he produced two small plastic bags. One glowed a familiar, gentle blue, while the other throbbed a bright red. Cullen flinched away from the red bag. Blue lyrium sung quietly, softly, but the red bag was strange. Its song was harsh, akin to twisted screeching which Cullen felt in his bones.  
“What… is that?” he asked, his voice strangled as he pointed at the bag of red pills.  
Samson gave Cullen an unsettling smile, “red lyrium”.  
Cullen started. “Red?” he challenged, disbelieving, “there's no such thing. Only blue”.  
“This is real shit, Rutherford” Samson growled, “my boss is the only one selling it. Better than any of the blue shit that's out there” he leaned in, a crooked grin twisting his features, “The high is so strong. I can't stop. You're up so long. And the more you take it, the longer it lasts”. His voice was almost reverential, and it made Cullen shudder.  
Samson's words rattling around his head, Cullen gave the red bag a long look. He was tempted, oh he was; to feel more than what the blue gave him, and for longer. But there was something about the song, the way it made his skin prickle and his stomach twist, which told him it was wrong. He shook his head, reaching for his wallet.  
“I'll just have some blue”.  
Samson snorted, muttering something about predictability under his breath. Cullen bristled, but was otherwise silent as he handed over his money, quickly pocketing the little bag of blue lyrium. He nodded stiffly to Samson, starting towards the town centre. He'd only gotten a few steps away when a thought hit him, one that had been swimming around incessantly ever since he'd thought of Samson. He slowed, letting out a long, steadying breath as he turned back to face Samson, who'd already retreated back to the dark alleyway.  
“Raleigh” he called hesitantly, internally scolding himself for his impending stupidity, “how's… how's Solona?”.  
Samson erupted into a barking laugh, and Cullen immediately regretted asking. “Amell?” Samson wheezed, “well, for one thing, she now owes me five sovereigns. But yeah, she's good. She's doing well”.  
Cullen nodded, trying his hardest to keep his face neutral, his focus making his headache worsen. “That's good”. Maker, he hated how small his voice sounded.  
“She's fucking great” Samson continued, a venomous smile creeping onto his face, “and she still fucks great too”.  
“Fuck you, Samson” Cullen spat. He turned on his heel, striding away.  
“Yea, Amell does that every night!”  
Cullen's scowl deepened. _What else did I expect?_ He asked himself angrily as he stormed off, leaving Samson and his crowing in the shadow of Thereinfal Redoubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Days Before You Came" by Placebo.


	5. Isn't It A Lovely Night?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian go to the cinema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh I am so sorry for the three month silence. I tried to write this chapter after I published the fourth but oh my god. This chapter was so stupidly hard to write. It's probably pretty rough, it's unbetad because of how much it got away from me. Anyway, chapter six will (hopefully) not take another three months.

The train trip to Denerim was long and trundling. While Amaranthine was only an hour out from the capital, the train was stopped at every little fishing town as it wove its way along the coastline. Cullen thought he would go crazy if he had to see one more empty country station. With his craving for lyrium curtailed- a quick bump in the dingy train toilet had fixed that- he only wanted Dorian. And that did nothing for his patience. His inhibitions all but gone, Cullen bounced around the train, pacing up and down the walkways, ignoring the strange looks he got from strangers. The double dose of lyrium was surging through him, leaving little room in his head for anything but the man on the other end of the train line.  
When the train finally pulled into Denerim station, Cullen launched himself off it. He climbed the stairs two at a time, impatient and overexcited. He made it to the cinema in good time, barely breaking a sweat for how fast he walked to get there. He slipped through the glass doors, making a beeline for the leanly muscled man whom stood against a wall inside, face pinched in irritation as he stared at his phone. Cullen ignored both the buzzing against his thigh and the faint warning inside his head as he strode right up to Dorian, pulling him into a tight embrace. The mage stiffened in Cullen's arms, beginning to pull back, but as soon as Cullen could feel his eyes on him, he relaxed, his arms wrapping around Cullen's waist.  
“Well, hello to you too” came Dorian's muffled voice from his chest.  
“Hello” Cullen breathed back, burying his face into the crook of the Tevinter's neck, “I missed you”.  
He ducked his head, pressing a hard kiss to Dorian's forehead before pulling back, letting his hands slide down Dorian's arms to interlock his fingers with the mage's.  
“You look amazing” he grinned, eyes roving over the other man's form appreciatively.  
Dorian preened under Cullen's gaze, and Cullen almost thought he saw a faint flush on the other man's cheeks.  
“Come” Dorian murmured, pulling Cullen along as he walked backwards towards the ticket counter, “I want to get some popcorn before the movie”.  
Cullen nodded, giving Dorian's hands a squeeze as he let himself be lead further into the cinema.

 

***

 

The two men were entwined as soon as the lights in the theatre went down. Seated in the back corner furthest from the entry, Cullen had Dorian tucked against his chest as best he could with the bulky armrest between them.  
The film started fairly normally for Cullen. He watched the opening of the film, comforted by the solid weight of Dorian against his chest. Every now and then he would gently squeeze the man, brushing a soft kiss to his head, eyes on the screen even as he did these. However, about half way through the film, as the plot started to build, it seemed that Dorian had an idea.  
The mage's fingers slipped from their place, wrapped around Cullen's arm, and began to slide downwards. Cullen, barely aware of the movement, jumped as Dorian's hand found its way to his thigh. He began to slide his slender fingers along Cullen's thigh, tracing patterns absently. Occasionally, his fingertips would dip slightly, dragging along the sensitive skin of Cullen's inner thigh. Cullen felt every hair stand on end, goosebumps forming in the path of Dorian's touch. The sensation was heightened intensely by the lyrium, and Cullen felt pressure beginning to build in his navel. He fidgeted, shuffling closer to the other man, who responded by twisting up, placing a soft kiss to his neck, gently dragging his lips down the taught tendon in the blond's throat. Cullen sighed, tightening the arm slung around Dorian's shoulders, inciting a quiet chuckle from the man.  
The rest of the movie passed like this, Cullen barely paying attention to the action as he struggled not to ravish the man next to him, instead enduring the maddening brush of lips and fingers against him. Once he tried to lean in and kiss Dorian, capture those tantalising lips with his, but the mage had just given him a coy smile, dodging Cullen and ceasing his barrage of teasing. The blond had whined, but relaxed, some of the pressure in his stomach subsiding, but once he had become enthralled in the movie (somewhat confused as to the plot at this point) Dorian had begun his assault once again, rendering Cullen once again to a quivering mess.  
As soon as the credits began to roll, Cullen stood, clutching Dorian's hand tightly. He turned to face his partner, who eyed him with a strangely sheepish expression.  
“We need to come” he blurted out.  
“That we do” Dorian grinned, rising from his chair so that he was square with Cullen.  
“Not what I meant to say” Cullen groaned, “I mean, its correct, but I meant to say 'we need to go' and-”  
“Hush” Dorian interrupted, beginning to steer Cullen out of the cinema, “I know what you meant. However, since you mentioned it, why don't we see to it, hmm?”  
Cullen nodded, sliding his arm around Dorian's waist, pulling the man flush against him. Dorian began to open his mouth, seemingly in half hearted protest, but Cullen swallowed the words with a deep kiss, bowing his head to reach Dorian. The mage's words died immediately as he arched into the kiss, throwing his arms around Cullen's neck. The kiss was quick but passionate, all tongue and teeth. They parted lips, both slightly breathless, and Dorian looked around at the few tutting patrons, a slight self-conscious blush rising into his cheeks, however, Cullen only had eyes for his partner, eyes wide with exhilaration. He gave Dorian a gentle kiss on the cheek, letting his teeth gently graze the man's bronze flesh.  
“Lets go 'see to it' then” he growled.  
He felt Dorian nod fervently against him, and, with a wide grin, he took the shorter man's hand into his and strode out of the cinema.

 

***

 

As soon as the door to Dorian's apartment closed, the mage was pressed up against it. Cullen kissed Dorian fervently, grabbing desperately at his firm body. He pulled the Tevinter hard against him, letting his hands travel down to his arse, grabbing a firm handful. He felt his blood boil as Dorian growled in his ear, rolling his hips against him. Cullen scooped Dorian up, grinning in triumph as he felt muscled thighs wrapping around his core. Still connected at the lips, Cullen began to take Dorian further into the apartment. The mage's lips travelled down to his throat, the kisses of the cinema long gone, now replaced by eager bites. Cullen ground, hurriedly opening any door he could find, desperately searching for the bedroom. He found it with a hiss of satisfaction, that slowly rolled into a moan as Dorian began marking his neck. He strode towards the bed, turning and falling, letting Dorian's weight push him down into the mattress. As Dorian's lips collided with his again, he began to work on the mage's shirt, nimbly undoing the buttons, trying not to rip them in his eagerness to reveal what they hid. Once the shirt was removed he let his lips travel, gliding over Dorian's collarbones, letting his tongue ever so gently graze the mage's dark flesh. He caught some of the man's skin between his teeth, beginning to suck gently, coercing a low groan from Dorian. He pulled back with a grin, letting the dark bruise bloom.  
Dorian rolled them both over with no small amount of aggression. Cullen grinned wildly, eyes wandering hungrily over the mage's now exposed torso. He rolled his hips, making Dorian squirm under him, and he groaned, letting his fingernails dig into the Tevinter as he trailed them down his abdomen. In a quick movement he had his shirt over his head and off, beanie pulled off and flung away with the shirt. He bit his lip as he felt Dorian's eyes rove over his body, making sure to roll his hips again, dragging another low moan from his partner. Cullen leaned down then, kissing Dorian passionately, rocking his hips against the other man's, making them sigh into each other's mouths. He bit Dorian's lower lip, sucking it gently before letting it snap back, trailing his tongue gently along it. He felt Dorian's thumbs hook into his jeans, tugging them, and he complied, lifting his hips and letting the pants slide down his legs and off. He then quickly rolled off the other man, the mage's groan of complaint silenced with a kiss as Cullen quickly slid his pants off. The feeling of uninterrupted skin drove Cullen into a frenzy. He let his hands explore Dorian's body, drawing various moans and sighs from his partner as they pressed up against each other. The lyrium that still coursed through Cullen heightened everything, every movement sending waves of pleasure through him, and with each touch, Cullen slipped further into a haze of ecstasy.

 

***

 

Cullen woke sore. A pleasant ache radiated through his whole body, but was spoiled by a sharp pain behind his eyes. He groaned, rolling over, opening his eyes to find himself nose to nose with a sleeping Dorian. Cullen blinked in surprise, memories from the night before flooding back into his mind. He looked over Dorian's relaxed face, a blush rising in his cheeks as he remembered the moans and sighs he'd pulled from the other man's soft lips. He smiled, leaning in to nuzzle Dorian's throat, smiling as the motion earned him a sleepy hum of contentment. Just as he began to settle back down, pressing his face to Dorian's chest, he felt a wave of nausea come over him. Cullen clamped a hand to his mouth, sliding off the bed, doing his best not to jostle Dorian. He stood, running for the hall, feeling bile rise up in his throat. He found the bathroom after a hurried search, throwing himself to his knees in front of the toilet before vomiting into the bowl. Cullen grasped the edge of the toilet seat, heaving as he emptied his stomach, the bile burning his throat and mouth. He groaned, leaning his pounding head against the porcelain, occasionally convulsing as the nausea slowly subsided. So quickly his withdrawals had soiled his afterglow, stamping over the warmth that had curled in his chest at the sight of Dorian's sleeping face.  
Slowly, Cullen pulled himself off the tiles, holding tightly onto the sink as he stood. He washed his face, avoiding looking at his reflection, not wanting to see the dark circles that sobriety always seemed to exacerbate. Cullen quietly padded back to the bedroom, searching in the dark for his clothes. He would pull up the blind, but he didn't want to wake Dorian, not when the mage looked so peaceful. Cullen realised that, relaxed as Dorian was, he looked years younger. That wasn't to say that the Tevinter looked old by any means- Cullen had taken him to be in his mid thirties- but he looked young. Cullen's stomach twisted unpleasantly, both with nausea and the guilt that arose at the idea of pulling someone so young into the mess that was his life. Pulled from his reverie, Cullen returned to looking for his clothes, finding his jeans with a his of triumph. He began to walk from the room, eagerly digging through the pockets for his precious baggy when-  
“Cullen?”  
The blond stopped at the groggy voice behind him, plastic bag of lyrium half pulled out. He half contemplated leaving. The glowing blue pills were already starting to sing to him, calling him.  
“Where are you going?”  
There was an edge of panic to Dorian's voice, and Cullen found himself sliding the bag back into his jeans, letting the clothes fall to the ground as he strode back over to the bed. He kneeled on the mattress and pulling Dorian against him.  
“I'm not going anywhere” he murmured, brushing a soft kiss to Dorian's head. To his surprise, Dorian batted him away, pulling out of Cullen's embrace. The mage turned to Cullen, fixing him with a glare.  
“Don't lie, Cullen” he hissed, “I'm not an idiot, and I don't appreciate being presumed to be one”. He stood, striding over to his wardrobe, digging around before finding a white bathrobe, quickly throwing it on, “now, seeing as you've gotten what you wanted, if you could please promptly leave. I'd rather like to drink myself into a stupor alone.”  
Cullen didn't move. He sat rigid on the bed, arms still outstretched towards Dorian, head swimming. “I wasn't… leaving” he choked, brow furrowed in confusion as he looked up at Dorian.  
The mage huffed, “then please tell me why you were sneaking out carrying your clothes, if not to… what do you say in Ferelden… 'slam and scram'?”. The last word was spat, and Cullen flinched at the venom in Dorian's voice.  
“I...” the blond scrambled for words, digging his hands into the blankets, “I was just trying to find... my phone. I just didn't want to wake you with my rummaging”.  
Dorian visibly deflated, anger draining from his form, replaced with the burning blush of shame.

“I'm sorry” the mage groaned, letting himself collapse onto the bed, “I'm so sorry”.  
Cullen felt another sharp stab of guilt, the faint song of lyrium seeming to twist into “liar… liar… liar” in his head. He pushed the song away, cradling Dorian against his chest, “hush” he whispered, “it's ok. It probably looked like I was sneaking out”.  
He felt Dorian relax in his arms and he tightened them, burying his face in Dorian's hair. He fought down another wave of nausea, pressing his lips to the mage's forehead.

 

***

 

It wasn't until the late morning that Cullen was able to pull himself out from next to Dorian. As Dorian went out to the little kitchen Cullen slipped into the bathroom, dressing himself before quickly dosing himself with lyrium, groaning as he felt the cool twist of magic in his bones and in his head. He groaned in relief, making his way out to Dorian.  
He found the mage in the kitchen, bent over a coffee machine, arm and forehead rested against his white cabinets. Cullen snuck up behind him, winding his arms around Dorian's waist, pulling himself flush against the other man, lips to his throat. Dorian groaned, leaning back into Cullen, almost spilling the coffee he was pouring.  
“Woah” Cullen laughed, quickly sliding the mug in front of Dorian, catching the coffee before it could be poured all over the bench, “getting a bit distracted are we?”  
Dorian chuckled, turning in Cullen's arms, pressing a mug of coffee into the blond's chest. Cullen smiled, taking a sip of his coffee before setting down the mug, ducking down to capture Dorian's lips with his. His hands slid down Dorian's side, playfully flicking the waistband of the mage's shorts. Dorian chuckled, pressing himself up against Cullen, returning the kiss with fervour. Cullen sighed, deepening the kiss, gently pulling Dorian closer to him, making the mage dip back. Dorian chuckled against Cullen's lips, hooking his leg over the blond's hip. Cullen felt a wave of pleasure roll through him and, seized by the moment, he grabbed Dorian, lifting him and propping him up on the counter, wrapping the Tevinter's muscled bronze thighs around him. The move earned him a moan, Dorian's hands raking over his back, making his skin tingle.  
Cullen leaned in closer, beginning to trail bites along Dorian's neck when a chuckle broke through the breathy silence. Dorian grimaced, leaning against Cullen's chest. The blond looked over his shoulder, finding the source of the laughter. The huge Qunari from Leliana's birthday.  
“Interrupting, are we?” Bull grinned, leaning against the kitchen door.  
“Well aren't you observant?” Dorian groaned.  
“Dorian didn't mention he had a room mate” Cullen said blandly, stepping back a little and pulling his shirt down.  
“Room _mates”_ came a loud voice from the doorway, followed by the head of a small blonde elf. Upon seeing Cullen and Dorian, she screwed up her nose, “eww. Keep it in your bedroom, Fancy Pants. I have to eat out here”. She then grabbed Bull's arm, dragging him further into the apartment, poking her tongue out at the two still entwined on the counter top.  
Cullen turned back to Dorian with a soft smile, “I suppose I should be going, hm?”  
The mage nodded, slipping off the bench glumly, wrapping Cullen into a tight hug.  
“That wasn't how I imagined you'd meet my room mates” he sighed, pouting up at Cullen. The blond laughed quietly, squeezing Dorian to him.  
“Next time, I'll properly introduce myself”. He kissed Dorian softly, brushing the hair back from his face, “I had a good time with you. I hope we can do this again sometime”.  
Dorian followed him to the door, arms wrapped around his torso.  
“Thank you for staying” Dorian smiled, leaning up on his toes to kiss the Ferelden.  
“Any time” Cullen said softly, giving Dorian a final deep kiss before slipping out of the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't It A Lovely Night? by the Decemberists.


	6. March of the Pigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has a dream about his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is so long! And so long overdue!!!  
> Also, it's like, midnight and I just finished writing this and I want to get it up, so sorry for any glaring issues. Please point them out if you spot them!  
> Also, I now have plans for this entire fic all the way to the end! So, this (hopefully) shouldn't end up abandoned, because I'd love for any readers to come all the way to the end of this with me.  
> As always, thank you for reading, and I hope to get the next chapter up soon!
> 
> *trigger warning- there is violence in this chapter
> 
> PS. I have nothing against cops! So please don't get offended by the title, the band has been an earworm lately and I thought it was kind of fitting

Cullen took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, appreciating the now slightly unfamiliar weight of his body armour.  
“It's been too long” he sighed, falling into step beside Samson, “you can't know how much I've missed simple patrols.”  
Samson chuckled, grinning widely over at Cullen, “you spend too much time in High Town. I got no clue how you deal with all the rich pricks”.  
“Practice” Cullen answered simply. Samson gave him a doubtful look and he laughed. “Okay, practice, and sometimes I don't file their reports” he acquiesced.  
His partner mocked a gasp, a hand clasped to his chest, “Cullen! I'm going to have to report you for misconduct.”  
Cullen laughed, elbowing Samson, “it's the little discretion I have- and you'd do the same if every week you had that old Chantry sister complaining about nugs in the basement again. Last week she tried to tell me they were enchanted to sing, just so we'd have to investigate!”  
Samson was quiet for a moment. Cullen looked over at him, finding him looking deep in thought.  
“What's wrong?”  
“What would the nugs be singing?”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, giving Samson a patronising pat on the back, which earned him a sharp elbow in the side.

The two men fell into easy conversation, chatting animatedly as they patrolled Low Town. The district was always deserted past nightfall, many of the citizens too afraid of those who lurked the alleys. But even they quickly disappeared at the sight of the two Templars in uniform.

 

***

“How _did_ you get patrol tonight?” Samson asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the pair, “last I heard, you were on permanent duty outside the Gallows.”  
Cullen laughed nervously, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, “well… you heard correctly...”

Samson's eyes widened in incredulity, a grin stretching across his face, “good boy Cullen breaking the rules, huh?”  
“It's not like that! Meredith had to meet with Hawke and I uh… I saw an opportunity” Cullen looked away sheepishly.  
“She didn't want her Knight-Captain at a meeting with the _Champion_?”  
Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, cursing himself as he felt a slight blush rise up in his cheeks, “the Knight-Commander believes that I'm too… friendly with Hawke.”  
Samson cackled gleefully, turning to face Cullen, eyes alight with curiosity, “you mean you and-”  
“Officers!”  
The two Templars spun to the source of the call, hands on their firearms. A young man came barrelling towards them.  
“Please!”  
The man fell at their feet, his face red and sweaty, knees of his jeans bloody from the grazes they hid.  
“What do you need, citizen?” Cullen asked, keeping his voice steady and authoritative.  
“Mages!” the young man coughed, getting to his feet, “mages in Dark Town!”  
Cullen nodded to Samson, who started at a jog towards Dark Town. He then turned and put a firm hand on the sweaty boy's shoulder.  
“You did a good thing telling us. Now, get home safe”.  
The boy nodded, not looking back as he darted further into Low Town's housing district. Cullen quickly adjusted his body armour before taking off after Samson, meeting him at the top of the industrial elevator down to Dark Town.  
“Ready?”  
Samson gave a dark grin, looking at Cullen, “always ready to fuck up some mages.”

 

***

The pair held their firearms out ahead of them as they entered Dark Town. The underground labour district was dingy, the tall concrete walkways and antechambers lit by what fluorescent lights hadn't yet blown.  
As Cullen and Samson moved further into the labyrinthian district they listened hard, trying to hear any sound of life over the drip of the water pipes and their own echoing footsteps. Every apartment they passed was closed, silent, presumably empty if it wasn't for the hurried scutter of feet away from the door as they passed.  
As they rounded yet another corner to no avail, Cullen sensed Samson drop behind. He turned, giving Samson a questioning look. Samson beckoned him over, lifting a finger to his lips. Cullen snuck over, joining Samson where he was pressed up beside the door to a warehouse.  
“Can you hear that?” Samson hissed, his eyes bright.  
“I don't...” Cullen stopped, listening harder. He could hear it, but just barely, from somewhere deep within the warehouse. The unmistakeable song of- “lyrium.”  
Samson nodded gleefully, “and where there's lyrium there's always fucking mages.”  
The two Templars stepped back, turning to face each other before running, barging the warehouse door.  
The wooden door gave, splintering off its hinges. Both men dropped into a roll, rushing behind a pile of metal crates as a fireball shot past them, scorching the concrete wall beyond the door.  
Cullen stood, inching to the right as Samson stayed behind the crate. Cullen peeked out from behind the crate, breathing heavily as his dose of lyrium activated, fuelling the adrenaline that was coursing through him. He spotted three mages, three men, two acting as offenders while the third had a shield held over them. He turned back to Samson, whistling quietly to get his attention. Once he had it, he held up three fingers then indicated that he was going to attempt to flank them. Samson nodded, turning back and beginning to summon a Smite.  
Cullen quickly darted out from behind the crate, staying low as the mages focused on Samson, who was now firing at them, bullets glowing white with the Smite that was being channelled through them. Cullen pressed himself up against the body of a forklift, keeping his head down so that it wouldn't be seen through the open driver's cab. He could hear both the _fwoosh_ of the mages' fireballs, as well as the deafening bang of Samson's gun. He risked a look over the seat; he was now parallel with the defensive mage. Cullen summoned up a Lasting Cleanse, channelling it through his firearem. Keeping his focus on the Cleanse, he leaned up, balancing his arms on the forklift's seat, taking aim. With a deep breath, he pulled the trigger. The mage's shield fell as he crumpled, shrieking in pain as he clutched his leg, blood oozing sickeningly out of the fresh bullet wound.  
Taking advantage of the mages' vulnerability, Samson cast Silence from behind the crate. The two men gasped, buckling as their magic fizzled out in their hands.  
Cullen rushed out from behind the forklift, tackling one mage to the ground as Samson took down the other. They put the pair in hand cuffs, and Cullen forced them both to take a draught of Magebane as Samson saw to the shield mage's wound before cuffing him as well.  
Cullen helped his new prisoners to their feet, both still wheezing with the impact of the Silence.  
“You're lucky we didn't execute you on sight”  
“Execution would have been kinder than your wretched fucking Gallows” the elder mage spat, glaring up at Cullen. Cullen returned the glare with a look of disgust.  
“Exactly. Templars are not kind to criminals.”  
“Nor mages” the other cuffed mage hissed, wincing as his injured friend howled in pain.  
“To me, the two are synonymous.”  
At that moment, Samson joined him, the injured mage slung over his shoulder, writhing in pain.  
“Ready to go?”  
Cullen nodded solemnly, tugging on the enchanted chain that he had the other two mages cuffed to. The party began towards the door, Samson and the shot mage at the front, the two prisoner mages in the middle and Cullen taking up the rear. As the group reached the door, Cullen heard a scuffling behind him. He turned, catching a glimpse of a dark haired head darting back behind a closing door. He blinked _Was that…? No. It couldn't be…_ Cullen drew his gun, walking forwards to Samson, handing him the chained mages.  
“Call for backup to get these to the Gallows. I have something I need to do”.  
“Something you need to do? Bullshit, you mean you're leaving me with the paperwork”.  
Cullen sighed, “no, it's not that. I have to see something”.  
Samson opened his mouth to argue but Cullen shot him a sharp look, silencing him.  
“As your Knight-Captain, I order you to radio for backup and get these charges to the Gallows”.  
Samson glared hard at Cullen but complied, grumbling as he yanked the chained mages forwards, reaching for his radio.  
Cullen winced as he turned back, knowing he was going to cop it from Samson later. Regaining his composure, Cullen started into the dark expanse of the warehouse, towards the small office at its rear. He came to the door, pressing his back to the wall next to it.  
“Come out” he said firmly, channelling Silence through his gun, “if you come quietly I won't hurt you”.  
Cullen was met by silence, but he could hear someone shifting around beyond the door. Taking a steadying breath, he moved his hand to the doorknob, giving it an experimental twist. The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing a small human woman, her hands alight with lightning.  
“Solona?”  
The woman faltered, her magic flickering as her eyes widened in recognition.  
“Cullen. Is that really you?”  
Cullen nodded, lowering his gun, walking towards Solona in a daze. He pulled her into his arms lifting her slightly off the ground. She sighed, relaxing into his embrace. He pulled back, taking her face into his hands.  
“Why are you here? Don't you know how dangerous Kirkwall is at the moment?”  
Solona's face hardened, and she pulled out of Cullen's grip.  
“I do. And that's why I'm here. One of the mages that you just took in, he was my friend, Jowan. From Kinloch. He was transferred to the Gallows after the Hero left. Those other two, Dante and Connor, they were helping me break him out.”  
“Break him out?” Cullen ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, “Solona, we are in the middle of a mage rebellion right now. Blood magic is rampant throughout the city. That is why we are under martial law!”  
“Martial law?” Solona cried, “it's oppression. You have mages under lock and key 24/7. You have regressed to the conditions of Dragon! Everywhere else in Thedas operates under modern laws yet you Templars in Kirkwall continue to live as if we still have Circle Towers!”  
“It is necessary!”  
“It's fucking insanity. You are under the command of a tyrant.”  
“Enough!” Cullen grabbed Solona by the shoulders, giving her a pleading look. She glared at him, closing her mouth. Cullen sighed, “please. I know that the conditions are not the best, but at the present time, it is necessary.”  
Solona gave him a stony glare, shrugging off his hands to go sit on the office's desk.  
“Now that you've found me, another criminal apostate, what are you going to do with me?”  
Cullen groaned, “I don't know. The thought of losing you again after Kinloch… The thought of you being in the Gallows… I don't know that I can handle that. But you can't leave the city. You wouldn't get past the docks. And Maker knows you wouldn't get through the airport security.”  
“I could forge some documents. I mean, I got _in_ here, didn't I?”  
“That's true” Cullen allowed, “but the security measures on those going out is so much tighter. They do blood tests on all outgoing citizens. You would be caught, and dragged straight back to the Gallows.”  
Solona gasped, her face twisting in despair, “what have I gotten myself into?”  
“You could stay with me.”

Her head shot up, “excuse me?”

Cullen blushed, his hand going to the back of his neck, “I mean, I have a private cabin, near the Gallows. It's one of the few perks of being Knight-Captain. You could stay with me, until we figure out how to get you back out.”  
Solona nodded, a tentative smile breaking across her face, “thank you. But what of my friends?”  
Cullen's face hardened, “there is nothing I can do for them, I'm sorry.”  
The smile slipped from Solona's face, and Cullen felt his heart drop a little, “I understand, I guess.”  
Cullen patted her shoulder in consolation, “come on, my partner will send someone to look for me if I'm gone for too much longer”.  
Solona stood, pulling her jacket closer around her, face set with determination. Cullen smiled, ecstatic at the thought of once again being with the woman whom had his heart still.

***

Cullen rushed into his cabin, pulling Solona behind him by another set of enchanted cuffs. He quickly locked the door, taking a look out of the blinds to make sure there were no other Templars in the area. When he determined that his immediate area was clear, he sighed, relaxing against the door. He chucked the cuff keys to Solona, who unlocked the one cuff that was secured around her wrist, throwing the pair at the little table in Cullen's kitchenette.  
Cullen looked over the woman, his heart soaring as he took in the image of her; her smooth dark skin, her tawny eyes, the black frizz of her hair, the swell of her shapely hips, the curve of her full lips. All just as he remembered her some five years ago when he himself was a gangly teen.  
“I thought I would never see you again” he whispered, “I was so scared that you didn't make it out”  
“Well, here I am” she gave him a small smile, “why are you working? Why didn't you leave the Order after Uldred?”  
Cullen winced at the name, straightening up, “after seeing what mages were capable of, I couldn't bear the thought of letting more go unsupervised, the thought of more gaining power like that and hurting others.”  
“Cullen… I'm a mage. Do you think I'm going to hurt people?” Solona's voice was quiet and dangerous, Cullen started.  
“What? No! Solona, you're different. I know you would never hurt anyone.”  
“Oh, I'm different, am I?”  
“Yes” Cullen walked slowly over to Solona, carefully reaching out to take her hands in his, gently rubbing her calloused palms with his thumbs, “I know you. I know you would never hurt anyone. I don't know the other mages, what they're capable of. And I don't have the option to know them”  
Solona processed what Cullen said, looking slightly uncomfortable. He held his breath, watching her intently. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded, “I guess that makes sense”.  
Cullen's breath whistled out of him and he smiled widely, wrapping Solona in a tight embrace.  
“I missed you” he murmured into her neck.  
“I missed you too” she breathed back.  
Cullen leaned back slightly, biting his lip. He felt a blush rise up in his cheeks as he looked into Solona's golden eyes.  
“May I k-”  
His question was cut off by Solona's lips crashing into his. He melted into the kiss, sweeping the small mage off her feet and carrying her further into his small cabin.

***

“Are you a fucking idiot?!”  
“Quiet Samson!” Cullen hissed, grimacing as he saw everyone in the Gallows courtyard look over at he and his friend in interest. He offered them all a placating look before turning back to Samson, “do you want to get me in trouble?”  
“I don't need to when you're the one harbouring a bloody _mage_ in your own cabin! Or are you so far up your own arse that you've forgotten you're a Templar?” Samson growled.  
“No, I haven't forgotten!” Cullen insisted, trying to keep his voice low, “please, Samson. She was there at Kinloch. I couldn't put her in the Gallows. Not with them.”  
“Not with them? She's one of them, Cullen! She's a fucking mage!”  
“Not to me” Cullen sighed, “Solona isn't a mage to me. She's a person, she can't be just a mage. She's different, she isn't like them.”  
Samson let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest, “if you say so, kid. I won't rat you on you, you have my word on it. But if Meredith finds out, don't expect me to bail you out.”  
Cullen grinned in relief, “thank you, Samson. Did you want to meet her?”  
“I s'pose so” Samson said gruffly.  
Cullen's smile widened, “excellent. Come to my room during the midnight changeover.”

***

Cullen trudged towards his cabin, already unbuttoning the top of his uniform shirt. He pulled off his badge of rank as he opened the door, throwing it onto the little kitchen counter.  
He came round into the bedroom, stopping short at the sight of Samson and Solona sitting on the bed.  
“Samson?”  
His friend turned, face illuminated by a blue glow, “you never told me Amell had extra lyrium.”  
Cullen's face furrowed in confusion, “I didn't know about it… Aren't you meant to be on patrol tonight?”  
Samson snickered, “nah, got Carroll to take it for me. He's been itching to go out ever since Meredith put him on ice for causing all that media attention when he killed that mage.”  
Solona stiffened and Cullen winced, stepping further into the room, “why does it matter that Solona has extra lyrium? Why do you have extra lyrium?”  
Solona's expression quickly turned sheepish, her eyes anywhere but on Cullen's, “we may have brought in a surplus of lyrium when we tried to break out Jowan. We thought we may have needed it if it came to a fight.”  
“Who cares, Cullen? More lyrium!” Samson crowed, holding up the philters, “the shit for mages is so much stronger, and you know that the supply we get isn't enough.”  
Cullen sighed, looking from the gleeful Samson to the still evasive Solona. He gave a long sigh, “whatever. Samson, take some and go back to the barracks. I'll see you tomorrow for duty in the courtyard”  
“Aye, captain” Samson jeered, snatching up a bottle. He stood up, gave Cullen a salacious wink and slipped out of the cabin.  
Cullen turned to Solona, “why was he here?”  
Solona shifted on the bed, moving closer to Cullen, still avoiding his eyes, “he said he wanted to talk to me. I knew he was your friend so I let him in. I didn't think you'd mind.”  
“No, I don't mind, just-”  
“Then what's the issue?” Solona insisted, kneeling in front of Cullen, “I'm bored and lonely, Cullen. I can't just talk to you, especially when you're barely even here.”  
“I know, but-”  
“But nothing, Cullen” Solona wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself up so they were eye to eye, “I'm here with you. But I'm allowed to have friends, too.”  
“But the lyrium-”  
“Is no issue. You already take it, yes? What's a little extra going to do?”  
Cullen deflated, resting his forehead against Solona's, “I suppose you're right.”  
She grinned, “as I usually am.”  
He returned her smile, “yes, as you usually are.”  
She pulled herself closer to him, hands snaking up his shirt, “lets celebrate this revelation, shall we?”  
Cullen laughed, spinning, falling down onto the bed with her, “we shall.”

***

As night began to fall, Cullen could only feel elation. He had managed to take part in a mage hunt, successfully killing four blood mages and capturing another two lackeys for transport into the Gallows. He chatted happily with his comrades, feeling a surge of satisfaction when Meredith had given him a nod of approval when he'd reported in to her. He walked with a small spring in his step as he made his way to his cabin, excited to see Solona after being away for four nights on the hunt.  
He let himself in through the front door, the sound of his little TV trailing out from the bedroom. He took off his belt and gun holster, unbuckling his body armour and placing it on its rack.  
He walked down the short hall, pushing open the bedroom door, his heart dropping to his feet at the sight that greeted him.  
Solona lay on the bed, her back arched, eyes closed, mouth open in pleasure. And above her, Samson huffed, pushing himself in between her legs, hands pinning her thin wrists to the bed.  
Cullen felt an angry flush rise in his cheeks.  
“You traitor!” he roared, pushing Samson off Solona. The naked man toppled to floor and Solona squealed, gathering the blankets up around her.  
“What the fuck?!” Samson yelled, holding his head as he got to his feet.  
“How could you?” Cullen cried, looking at Solona, blinking rapidly as tears stung his eyes, “how could you do this to me? How long has this gone on?”  
Solona just shook her head, bringing the blankets up further.  
“Four months” Samson answered instead, pulling on his jeans, “and longer, after this.”  
“How could _you_ do this to me?” Cullen asked, anger flaring as he heard his own voice break, “you were my best friend.”  
“I'm not doing it to you, I'm doing it for her” Samson spat back, “she's a person, not a mage? How long before she is just a mage to you?”  
“What do you mean I'm not a mage, Cullen?” Solona's voice was small, and it made Cullen seethe and break at the same time.  
“I mean that I see you for you, Solona” he whispered.  
“And what about all the rest in the Gallows?”  
He turned to her, rage bubbling, “they are not people! Mages aren't people! They hurt people. They kill people. I have seen mages turn into abominations- watched them summon demons and let them inside them. Mages are not people they are monsters!" He gasped, trying to calm himself down a little. With a deep breath, he turned to Solona, pleading,"you are different, Solona. You're nothing like them. You're good.”  
Samson laughed, low and raspy, “you're fucked, Cullen. Can't you hear yourself?”  
Solona's quiet sob broke through the tense silence that had stretched between all three of them, “you're the monster, Cullen.”  
Cullen felt his heart shatter. Splinter into a million pieces as he felt Solona's disgust. And, under her burning, hateful gaze, something within Cullen broke.  He turned to Samson, storming forwards. He lifted his fist, bringing it hard against Samson's cheek. He felt adrenaline course through him, pushing forward every punch to the face, every kick to the stomach. His vision went blurry and all he could see was the shape of his hand pounding Samson's bloodied face, and all he could hear was Solona's shrieking sobs, and the slapping of skin against skin. Cullen could taste the lyrium on his tongue, feel its power as he wrapped his fingers around Samson's throat-  
  
Cullen woke up in a sweat, breathing heavily, the sweet taste of lyrium still swirling around his mouth. He looked around, confused, panicked, feeling himself physically relax when he realised he was no longer in Kirkwall. He was safe and on his crappy fold-out couch in his home in Amaranthine. He lay back down, trying to steady his breaths. It had been so long since he had thought of Kirkwall, and what had transpired there.  
An ache rocked through him and he groaned, low and pained, the thought of lyrium, the taste the dream had left on his mind had stirred up want. He pulled himself up, going into his jacket pocket and fishing out the little bag of blue pills. He plucked one out, placing it on his tongue and swallowing, the lines on his face easing as the pain of craving subsided. Cullen scooped up his phone, checking the time. 3:14AM. He groaned, he would be up for hours now that he'd taken lyrium, meaning he'd crash at work. He went to flip his phone closed, but a little light caught his eye; the little message icon was blinking. Opening his inbox, he was greeted by a text.  
  
_From: Dorian  
_ To: 0456726890  
  
_My bed is better when ur in it I hope 2 see u again soon xx_  
  
11:54PM  
  
Cullen smiled, but found it tainted by his dream. He really cared for Dorian, but he had so much baggage, both from his turbulent past and his continued addiction. Cullen sighed, resting his head in his hands. He couldn't continue like this. He had to come clean. He had to tell Dorian about his past, his using, his insecurities. Everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March of the Pigs- Nine Inch Nails


	7. Black-Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian sees Felix and his evening goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads this fic and leaves kudos and comments; I honestly am so happy when I see those little numbers go up and know people are (hopefully) enjoying reading this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it!
> 
> Bit of a trigger warning- this chapter contains violence, mentions of mild body horror and homophobic slurs.

The club was loud and lively, and Dorian was buzzed. He took a sip from his cocktail, grinning lopsidedly at Felix from over his glass.  
“So, I hear that you and Livia are an item now?”  
“Oh hush” Felix laughed, his eyes bright against the dark circles under them “you're just as bad as Dad.”  
Dorian snorted, “now that's an overstatement if I ever heard it.”  
It had been a long time since Dorian had seen Felix. Too long, considering the man was his best friend, as well as the one credited with getting Dorian successfully out of Tevinter. But, between Felix's illness and Dorian's work, neither had really been able to spare enough time to properly catch up.  
“So what about you?” Felix asked, leaning towards Dorian, “what's been going on?”  
Dorian sighed, “not much, to be perfectly honest. I've just been working. Even my research is coming to a bit of a standstill.”  
Felix grimaced, “that's a shame to hear, Dad loved working of that with you.”  
“How is Gereon?”  
Felix's grimace deepened, “not good, I'm afraid. He's taken Mum's death so hard. Started going to an elite club- bunch of would-be magisters who call themselves “Venatori”. I didn't mind at first, but they just seem to be bad news. Heard they have ties here in Ferelden, too.”  
Dorian frowned, placing a reassuring hand on Felix's arm. The man gave a sad smile, which Felix returned before taking a gulp of his beer, giving himself a little shake.  
“Anyway. Onto lighter subjects before we end up sobbing into our cups” he joked, “are you seeing anyone?”  
Dorian couldn't help the grin that lit up his face, the buzz of alcohol only serving to make the expression even more doe-eyed and ridiculous.  
“I'll take that as a yes” Felix laughed, leaning towards Dorian, “so, what's he like?”  
“Ferelden” he said simply, thinking of Cullen's pale, freckled skin and curly blond hair.  
“Well, I gathered that from where we are”  
“He's beautiful, Felix. All muscle and confidence and blond and ugh. And so good in bed.”  
“Dorian” Felix groused, screwing his face up, “I don't need to know _that_. Are things between he and you serious?”  
Dorian hummed, considering for a moment as he played with the umbrella in his drink. “I wouldn't say so” he answered finally, picking up the glass of blue alcohol and downing it, appreciating the burn that followed it down his throat, “I've only known him for about three weeks now. It's nothing more than casual as of yet.”  
“Your mooning says otherwise”  
Dorian shot his friend a look, only managing the glare for a few seconds before both men dissolved into laughter.  
“I suppose it does” he chuckled, taking out his phone. He tapped on it a few times, pulling up a photo he had sneakily snapped of Cullen when they were walking back from the cinema. He held out the phone to Felix.  
“Well, he is definitely Ferelden.”  
Dorian wrinkled his nose, “you say that as if it's a bad thing.”  
“As you would have three months ago” Felix shot back playfully, “but I can see why you like him. At least from a physical standpoint. If I was inclined in such a way, I'd certainly go for him.”  
“If you _were_ inclined in such a way, you wouldn't have a chance with him. I wouldn't let you within a ten metre radius of him.”  
Felix snorted into his glass as he gulped the rest of his beer, “it's serious” he teased in sing-song. Unable to think of any witty quip through the steadily thickening haze of alcohol, Dorian settled for poking his tongue out in retaliation.  
Felix set his glass down, his expression decidedly dampened.  
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave” he sighed, looking at Dorian glumly.  
“What? So soon? It's only one!”  
Felix gave a half-hearted chuckle, “when we were in uni, that may have convinced me. But Livia would already be at the hotel by now. Her exhibition closed at 11. And besides, my flight home is pretty early.”  
Dorian huffed, pouting his lip out, “I still think that you- you both- should move to Ferelden. It's far less… how should I say… bigoted?”  
“Would that I could, Dorian” Felix said, “but you know I couldn't leave Dad alone in Tevinter. Especially considering the path he's headed down.”  
“I know” Dorian whined, “I just miss you, Felix.”  
“And I, you” his friend smiled, “but I do need to get going.” With a squeeze of Dorian's shoulder, Felix stood from his seat in the booth, only to fall to the floor in a heap. Dorian jumped up, rushing to his friend's side. He scooped him up, helping him stand, though he was a little shaky himself, intoxication making balance a bit difficult.  
“Little too much?” he tried to joke half-heartedly. His heart sunk even further than what it had already when Felix shook his head. “It's gotten worse, hasn't it?”  
“I'm fine” Felix hissed, voice strained.  
“No, you're not” Dorian insisted, “let me call-”  
“No” Felix said firmly, shaking Dorian off, “don't call anyone.”  
“Then let me help you get back to the hotel.”  
Felix then gave Dorian a hard look, which was settled on an odd combination of pleading and anger, “please, Dorian. I already have Dad and Livia fussing over me. You're the only one who still treats me like before. Let me get back on my own.”  
Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but, seeing the desperation in his friend's face, thought better of it. With a resigned nod, he stepped back, arms still out in case Felix started to fall again.  
Felix gave him a tight smile, “thank you. It was good to see you.”  
“And you, Felix. Please, visit whenever you want.”  
Felix's small smile stretched into a true grin, “I'll take you up on that.”  
Dorian beamed in returned, “good. Get back safe, and say hi to Gereon and Livia for me. Though I wouldn't imagine she forgives me after that one dinner with my parents.”  
The two hugged and Dorian sighed, hoping desperately that this wouldn't be the last time he saw his friend. He sat back down at the booth and watched as his best friend limped out of the club and into the cold Ferelden night.  


***  


Now that Felix had gone, Dorian felt lonely. He turned his phone over in his hands, itching to text Felix, see that he had made it back to his hotel okay, but he didn't want to make his friend feel even worse for his illness, particularly after his earlier outburst. Part of him wanted to text Cullen, invite him out. But, just as he opened a new message, he stopped. He didn't want to get too attached. He'd seen the man, what, three days beforehand? He needed to distance himself a little before it got too serious. Before he got himself hurt. So, he stowed his phone away, slumping down onto the little table he sat at. He considered calling it a night, but then he remembered that Sera had Tamaan over, as well as Dagna and Harding, and there was no telling what time they'd stop… whatever it was that caused Sera's bed to creak incessantly. No thanks.   
_Screw it_ Dorian thought, pulling himself out of the little booth. He would make himself enjoy the rest of the night. It was only one, and the club was still full, the dance floor a writhing mass of bodies; he'd be damned if he went home having only ever gotten a bit tipsy. If he had no one else there to have fun with, he would find someone.  
Dorian made his way to the bar, weaving through the sweaty mess of the dance floor. He quickly ordered himself another sweet blue cocktail, smiling at the chirpy barmaid before turning back to the body of the club. He scanned the crowd, looking for potential overnight friends. It wasn't long before someone caught his eye. A young man was leaning against the bar a little way from Dorian. He let his eyes slide appreciatively over the stranger; he was tall, heavily muscled with blonde hair that was tied into a loose knot at the nape of his neck. The man stood nursing a beer, looking bored as he watched the muted TV screen. Dorian, having finally being served his cocktail, picked it up, sliding a twenty sovereign note to the server, before pushing off the bar and making his way over to the stranger.   
“And here I was, thinking I was the only attractive man in the club, but then I happened to spot you.”  
The man nodded in Dorian's direction, turning his attention back to the screen.   
“Dorian Pavus” he held out his hand towards the stranger, giving him his best sultry look.  
“Cailan” the man- Cailan- said gruffly, taking Dorian's hand and shaking it.  
_That's a little better,_ Dorian thought snarkily, though outwardly he flashed Cailan a wide smile.  
“So, what brings a man such as yourself to be alone tonight?”  
Cailan turned, regarding Dorian with a calculating eye, “I'm not alone; I'm here with my friends. I don't dance.”  
Dorian nodded, leaning back against the bar next to the man, taking a long drink from his cocktail. The vodka burned his throat as it went down as he swallowed hard, letting the sugary mixer ease the pain.  
“I see, and are these the sort of friends whom would mind if you, say, slipped out on them for the night?”  
Cailan stood straight, turning to face Dorian, “and why would I do that?”  
Dorian leaned in, giving his best dazzling smile, “because I can think of far more interesting things to do, but they'd need to be somewhere a little more private.”  
The blond crossed his arms over his chest, jutting a hip against the bar, “are you propositioning me?”  
There was something about the stranger's stance and tone that sent warning bells blaring in Dorian's head, but they got lost somewhere in the haze of alcohol, instead becoming a vague nagging in the back of his mind. So he pushed onwards, trailing a finger along Cailan's forearm.  
“Indeed I am.”  
Cailan laughed, but it was sharp and humourless, “we'll see about that” and he was off, his back to Dorian as he pushed his way into the mass on the dance floor.  
The unfriendly smirk that Cailan had given him finally cut through the intoxication enough for Dorian to finally heed the warnings that were screeching at him from somewhere in his head, _get out of there._ Dorian didn't hesitate to comply. Pulling his jacket on, he swallowed the last of his cocktail, nodding to the barmaid before quickly striding towards the door. With a final look over his shoulder, Dorian pushed open the door to Kocari Wild, stepping out into the cold night.  


***  


Dorian didn't look back as he walked away from the club. He knew that the taxi rank was about two blocks over from where he was, so he decided it wasn't worth the extra fare to call for a cab to collect him from outside the club. So, with only the occasional stumble, he set off.   
The city was fairly quiet, so Dorian took the time to dawdle. He wove a slightly wobbly path, looking up at the stars as he trundled towards the taxis. Though it had ended a little sourly, Dorian had had a good night, and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he walked.  
“Hey! There he is!”  
Dread trickled down Dorian's spine as a man's voice yelled over the quiet calm. He turned reluctantly, and there, sauntering towards him was Cailan, flanked by two big men.  
“What was that about going somewhere more private?” Cailan jeered, the malice of his sneer palpable.   
Dorian ran.  
“Come back here, fag! We wanna take you up on the offer!”  
Dorian could hear the heavy footfalls behind him and he tried to push himself to go harder. The alcohol made his head spin, and he felt as if the ground was bending up to meet him. The mocking of his pursuers seemed to grow louder the faster he tried to run, and the once familiar streets of Denerim twisted into a maze when seen through a haze of drunken panic.   
Dorian made a turn, willing his legs to steady and move faster, only to realise that he'd completely missed the block where the taxis were. He could still hear the voices of the men, accompanied by the sickening thuds of their heavy footfalls. He spun back around, trying to figure out where he was so that he could find the taxis, but everywhere he looked was unfamiliar, so, Dorian picked a direction and followed it.  
He felt as if he had been running for years when he was forced to admit defeat. Staring at the locked gate at the end of an alley, Dorian doubled over, wheezing and dry retching as realization hit him hard. He was lost. He straightened up, trying to catch his breath a little, his head swimming.  
“There you are.”  
Dorian hadn't heard the men approaching, his ears throbbing so loudly, but now every other sound in the world seemed to fade out of existence as the three sets of footfalls came slowly towards him. Dorian spun around, pressing his back to the gate.  
“Please” he pleaded, “I didn't mean any harm. If I'd known you were straight I never would've approached you.”  
Cailan snickered, “see, that's where we differ. 'Cause we're really gonna fucking hurt you.”  
Another man, one somehow even taller than Cailan spoke up, “couldn't sleep tonight with the thought of another one of youse homos out.”  
“Even better that you're a fucking 'Vint, too” the third laughed.   
“Best to teach you a lesson before you turn someone else into a faggot like you” Cailan growled.  
The men hadn't stopped coming, and Dorian could feel his heart rising in his chest until it felt as if it was lodged in his throat. He reached for his mana, fumbling a little through his intoxication.  
“Please” he begged again, “I don't want to hurt you. Just go!”  
The men stopped, looking at each other for a second before bursting into derisive laughter.  
“Hurt us?” the third man cackled, “mate, you think you could hurt _us_ you've got another thing coming.”  
Dorian desperately clawed for his mana, sweat beading on his forehead and his heart like a hummingbird in his chest as the men drew closer. He finally grasped it, a triumphant grin breaking across his face- _THUMP!-_ Dorian's vision starred, pain radiating through his head, white hot against his cheek where he was hit. He staggered, blindly fumbling the wall when he collided with it.   
“Please!” he spluttered, blood filling his mouth.  
Another fist collided with him, his stomach exploding with pain and he crumpled to the ground, his vision fading back as he watched the sky spin. He got to his knees, trying to push himself up when he felt another blow to his gut, the hard tip of a shoe clipping the bottom of his ribs, his breath knocked out of him. Dorian gasped for breath, trying to pull himself away from his attackers, cringing as he could hear them come closer.  
“Is it worth it, poof?” Cailan hissed from somewhere above him, “getting fucked up the arse like a girl, just so we can beat the shit out of you?”  
Dorian felt more than saw Cailan lean back for another kick. With his last modicum of will, Dorian reached, gaining a firm grasp of his mana. He rolled onto his back, and with all his might, pushed his mana _out_.  
Lightning crackled from Dorian's palms, bathing the alley in white light. The smiles fell from the men's faces, the smallest one taking a little step back.  
“Shit, he's a fucking mage.”  
“Where's the brand, though?”  
Dorian pulled himself to his feet, one arm wrapped around his abdomen where it throbbed with pain. His palms were clammy with fear, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat, but Dorian tried to show none of this. He straightened, ignoring the spike of pain through his core, and wiped the still trickling blood from his face.  
“Let me go.”  
Cailan raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Let you go?” he sneered, “a gay Tevinter _mage_? We are just getting started.”  
“Let me go!” Dorian bellowed again, summoning more lightning, letting it crackle over his arms. The alley was bathed in cold light, and in it Dorian could see the fear in the faces of Cailan's two friends. _Good_.  
“Don't tell me what to fucking do, fag!” Dorian felt another solid fist collide with his stomach, and this time something definitely crunched, but he wouldn't let himself fall. He lurched forwards, placing both his hands square on Cailan's chest and he pushed. Lightning surged from his fingers, arcing into his attacker's chest. The blond jolted, his eyes going wide as he fell to the ground, shuddering and shaking, his body stiff as he seized.   
“Fuck” Dorian hissed, clutching his aching middle. He swallowed the blood that had pooled in his mouth, turning to the other two men whom stood frozen, staring at their friend, who still lay, convulsing, on the pavement. “Let me leave!” Dorian yelled, sounding far braver than he felt, “before I do that to _you.”_  
The two men nodded without hesitation, moving to the sides of the alley, letting Dorian pass. He kept the cracking lightning in his palms, taking a tentative step forwards. When the men made no move to stop him, he swallowed, walking confidently past them.  
Once out of the alley, Dorian broke into a run. He sprinted down the street, desperate to leave Cailan and his friends far behind him. But, he only made it three blocks over before the pain caught up with him. Dorian doubled over, spluttering as he tried to breath through the blood that kept filling his mouth. He spat the blood out, shuddering at the dark red stain on the pavement, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air. He kept going though, an arm wrapped around his middle, feeling his way along the walls of buildings. He summoned ice magic, letting it swirl around his hand where he kept it against the growing bruise, letting it soothe the pain a little. And so, semi conscious and stumbling, Dorian tried to find his way home.  


***  


When Dorian reached the steps to his apartment building he could hardly walk. He managed to pull himself up the stairs, tears stinging his eyes and beginning to well up as he finally made it through his apartment door. He shut it behind him, locking the doorknob as well as the deadbolt and chain, his shaking fingers fumbling with the latch, before he leant back against the door, letting himself slide to the floor in a heap as the last of his strength left him. Dorian dissolved into tears, curling up into a ball as sobs shuddered through him. Every breath hurt, and he could no longer feel the source of his pain, rather just felt it radiating through his body.   
And that was how the Iron Bull found him. Hunched up in the corner of the entryway, shivering with pain and cold, eyes swollen for the tears that still flowed from them. Dorian didn't look up as the heavy footfalls approached him, nor did he say anything as the Qunari's huge mass settled down beside him. Instead, he let himself be pulled to Bull's side, and cried into his shirt.  
The pair sat like that for a long time, longer than Dorian cared to find out, and it was only when he had no more tears to shed, his eyes sore and puffy, that Bull pulled away to look at him.  
“Holy shit” Bull's voice was quiet, but hollow. Dorian looked up at his friend, flinching at the pain in Bull's expression.  
“Is it that bad?”   
Bull didn't respond, instead pulling Dorian in to a tight hug. When he winced, the Qunari jerked back, holding Dorian at arms length.  
“They didn't...”  
Dorian nodded. He scooted back a little, pulling up his shirt to reveal his stomach. He hadn't seen the damage himself, but from the horrified expression on Bull's face, it wasn't pretty.  
“Who did this to you?” Bull growled, getting to his feet, “I swear I'll fucking kill them!”  
“Hush, please Bull!” Dorian hissed, trying to pull himself up, “I don't want Sera and her friends to see me like this.”  
“They all passed out ages ago.”  
“What? What time is it?”  
Bull gave Dorian a confused look, “it's quarter past three. I was on my way to come and look for you. How long were you out there for?”  
“Since about one. I got lost trying to get home.”  
The pained look returned to Bull's face and he pulled Dorian in for another hug, this time far gentler, the Qunari trying to avoid hurting Dorian any more.  
“I'm going to skin them alive” Bull murmured, pulling Dorian in closer.  
The mage sighed, leaning back, “please, Bull. Don't do anything. I don't want to have to see them or think about them again.”  
The Qunari glowered down at Dorian, his good eye glinting with anger, “look at what they did to you, Dorian. They need to be fucked up.”  
“I already got them back! Please.”  
“At least call the cops.”  
“I can't.”  
Bull threw his arms up, hissing in frustration, “why, Dorian? You won't let me hunt them, won't call the cops on them… You can't just let them go! Call the fucking cops or _I will_.”  
“Don't you dare.”  
“ _Why?”_  
“Because I'm an apostate!”  
The Qunari stopped his pacing, looking at Dorian in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”  
Dorian sighed, walking over to the couch and sinking onto it, letting himself lie bonelessly, his body radiating with pain, “just think what will happen if I report it, Bull. The police will find the men and then oh! What's this? You were attacked by a mage? They come back to me, ask to see my license, my papers, my brand. What happens when they find I have none of these? I get taken into custody by the Templars, I get my passport and visa revoked and they ship me back to Tevinter. My father picks me up from the airport with an 'I told you so' and I… I'm back to square one.” By the time Dorian was finished he was panting, fists clenched in his lap.  
He felt Bull sit down next to him, the couch creaking under his immense weight. He took the glass of water he was offered gratefully, chugging it down indelicately.   
“Why don't you just register, then?”  
Though Iron Bull's question was sincere, Dorian couldn't bite back the sharp bark of laughter.  
“And give up my freedom?” he turned to Bull, “the Templars here in the south are… they don't trust mages. I looked into registering, briefly, before I left Tevinter. They are similar to parole officers. Mages have to carry a license on them at all times, as well as papers which specify their level of Circle training and what magic they specialise in. Also, mages check in with a specific Templar twice a week. I'd need to be branded, too. An Andrastian sun on my wrist so I can be identified even if I have the gall to leave the apartment without my necessary documents,” Dorian's voice was thick with venom, his hands again clenched, this time threatening to break the glass he held onto. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he went on, “and, all mages go onto a massive online register- one I'm sure my father has access to. It wouldn't be long before he found me, and one day you'd come home to an empty apartment and I'd be halfway back to Tevinter.”  
Dorian looked up at the Qunari, whose expression hovered somewhere between horror and sadness, “you never to-”  
“Never told you, I know” the Tevinter stood up, trying to cover his wince, “if you hadn't noticed in my four months of living here, I'm generally not a sharer. Besides, I wouldn't want to bring down the mood” he brushed himself off, giving Bull's tree trunk of an arm a squeeze, “thank you for your support tonight, Bull. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go lick my wounds in peace.”   
Before the Qunari could argue, Dorian strode out of the room, leaving his friend alone on the couch.  


***  


The Tevinter stood in front of his bedroom mirror, shirt off, surveying his body. He winced as he saw his face, a dark stain blooming across his cheek, his lips swollen where the bruise touched them. His body made him want to cry, though. His stomach was a sickly purple black, still throbbing like it had when it was fresh. His ribs were littered with more bruises, dark lines that followed the path of his bones. Dorian gave a broken sob, wrapping his arms around himself as he curled up on his bed, feeling pathetic.   
He reached out to his phone, seeking comfort. As he scrolled through his inbox, looking for his thread with Felix, he stopped, thumb hovering over his conversation with Cullen. Felix's jibes echoed through his head but he pushed them away. He wasn't too attached. He wasn't even attached. He was interested in Cullen, and Cullen was interested back. That was all. He could easily back out of this thing- he refused to call it a relationship- at the drop of a hat.  
Dorian knew he was lying to himself even as he pushed the send button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black-Eyed: Placebo


	8. Close To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one is so late. I'm doing my major work for Art at the moment so most of my time has been taken up by that, sorry! But I haven't abandoned this fic!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! And I love hearing feedback!

Dorian couldn't help but appraise the handsome Ferelden seated across from him. The broad-shouldered man, hair slicked back and free of its usual curls, face sprinkled with short stubble, whom was looking slightly uncomfortable in the too-tight button up shirt he had on- clearly either borrowed or long unworn- as he examined the plate in front of him.

Dorian pursed his lips in a mix of amusement and annoyance as Cullen started to push the food around his plate, the look of trepidation on his face growing.  
“Are you going to eat your food, or just play with it?” Dorian chided softly.  
Cullen's head snapped up, cheeks reddening as he realised that Dorian was watching him.  
“I-yes. Eat it. Just… what is it?”  
Dorian let out a long suffering sigh, though he softened with a smile, “it's _preuba de chorizo_. Antivan bronto tapas.”  
Cullen nodded, spearing a piece of meat and putting it in his mouth. The Ferelden's eyes widened, and he dug into his meal.  
Dorian smiled to himself, beginning to eat his own meal, when the sound of frantic scrabbling caught his attention. He looked up, and was greeted by the sight of Cullen guzzling a glass of water. “Bit hot, is it?” Dorian chuckled.  
Cullen nodded frantically, reaching over the table to snatch up Dorian's water, gulping that down too. His face started to return to normal colour, only to turn red again with embarrassment. He coughed awkwardly, evading Dorian's gaze.  
“I ah… I'm generally not one for spicy foods.”  
“More of a hearty Ferelden roast sort of man, hm?” Dorian smirked, taking a bite of his own meal, smug as he found the spice more than bearable “the sort to eat their mashed peas unseasoned and on the cold side of lukewarm?”  
Cullen glared at Dorian, though the mage could see the corner of the blond's scarred mouth twitching. An internal battle seemed to be lost, and Cullen smiled at the tease, “I wouldn't go that far” he protested, spearing another piece of meat, eating it far slower than before, “but yes; generally, I don't eat anything adventurous. And I'm not familiar with spice. At all.”  
Dorian stared at the man incredulously, unable to stop the guffaw that escaped him, “then why on earth did you bring me to an Antivan restaurant, you daft man?”  
“Well, you're confident. _You're_ adventurous. Of course you'd like food that's different, foreign and exciting. Because you're, well, exotic.”  
The Tevinter gave Cullen a withering look over his uplifted fork.  
Cullen continued, unperturbed, “you're so unique. You sweep into rooms and all eyes turn to you. You speak and no one can help but listen. You dress different, you talk different, Maker, you even _smell_ different. Dorian, you are so intensely _you_ and it's honestly… amazing.”  
Dorian could feel the colour staining his cheeks, and though his body warmed with the feeling and earnest adoration behind Cullen's sentiment, a small voice in his head shrieked at the emotional connection he could feel forming with the help of those words.  
“Of course I smell different” he quipped, letting his humour mask how deeply the words had affected him, “because in Tevinter, we have soap.”  
Cullen snickered, seemingly unphased by the rebuff as he snatched Dorian's hand up and kissed his palm, “as do we here” he responded, humour in his honey eyes, “it's just mabari scented.”  
Dorian chuckled, “I see, well, I'll have to show you how to bathe like a civilised person at some point.”  
The mage did not miss the way Cullen's smile twisted, nor did he miss how the wicked grin travelled straight downwards.  
“Later” Cullen purred.

***

  
Their table cleared and desserts ordered, Dorian felt full. He rested his head on his hand, watching as Cullen had an experimental sip of his favourite cocktail. He scrunched his nose in amusement as Cullen's face puckered, sliding the sweet and sour cocktail back over to Dorian.  
“I see your lack of taste also translates to your alcohol preferences.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes over the rim of his glass, taking a sip of his ale, licking his lips theatrically. Dorian grinned, feeling a subtle tug in his naval as he watched Cullen intently.  
“At least I'm not so weak as to disguise the flavour of my alcohol.” Cullen teased.  
Dorian arched an eyebrow at the Ferelden, “my my, was that _sas_ s?”  
Before Cullen could respond, their desserts were set in front of them, and Dorian couldn't miss the way the blond's eyes widened at the undoubtedly rich chocolate mud cake that was set before him. The mage smiled to himself, looking down at his own chilli chocolate ganache, mouth watering as his spoon glided through the silky chocolate. He took a mouthful, sucking a little inelegantly on the spoon. And this was how he ate much of the ganache, growing steadily more aware of his audience.  
“Enjoying the show, are we?” he let his gaze rest on Cullen, letting the spoon from his mouth with a lascivious 'pop'.  
“Not at all” Cullen answered nonchalantly, eating a mouthful of his own food, “I was merely admiring your dessert.”  
To demonstrate, he leaned forwards, scooping a generous amount of chocolate on his finger. He went to bring his hand back but Dorian caught his wrist. Making sure not to break eye contact, Dorian brought Cullen's hand closer, not unaware that Cullen's entire body was following the movement. With a wicked grin, Dorian took the blond's finger into his mouth, sucking, lips sliding right down to the man's knuckle.  
Cullen gulped, and the mage savoured the deep blush that stained the Ferelden's pale cheeks. The mage opened his eyes, finding Cullen's locked onto them. Cullen's voice was low, husky with want.  
“We should go. _Now.”_

 

***

The door to Dorian's apartment had barely opened before Cullen was upon the mage. Dorian could feel the heat of both alcohol and excitement in his cheeks as the Ferelden pulled him flush against his hard chest, dipping him back and kissing him deeply. Dorian moaned against the other man's scarred lips, walking the two of them backwards into the apartment, their lips only parting for tiny moments and Dorian peppered the blond with kisses. He wound his arms around Cullen's waist, letting his hand slide down to grab the man's rounded arse, letting his tongue drag along Cullen's bottom lip.  
The entangled pair had reached the edge of the couch when Cullen paused, suddenly tensing against Dorian. Dorian's eyes snapped open, feeling the tension rolling off his partner.  
“What's wrong?” he murmured.  
“Where are Sera and Bull?” Cullen whispered, his eyes wide, looking back towards the bedrooms.  
Dorian laughed, pulling them both down onto the lounge, letting Cullen's weight rest along him, “fear not, they are both gone for the night. Sera is off with her lady friends, either being too loud in a bar somewhere, or participating in a lesbian orgy. Bull, on the other hand, said something about a date. So, as it happens, we have the place to ourselves for the night.”  
Cullen's face split into a wide grin, and the lascivious gleam in his eyes did nothing for the building pressure in Dorian's navel. With a groan he reached up, twisting his fingers into Cullen's golden curls and pulling the man's face to his.  
Their lips met almost painfully hard, but neither man winced, instead they pulled each other closer, Dorian wrapping his legs around Cullen's middle, grinding himself against him, earning a low moan from the other man. His skin burned as Cullen dragged his fingernails along his stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of Dorian's tailored pants. He groaned, pressing himself harder to the Ferelden, moving his lips to the other man's throat, leaving a red bite mark on his pale skin. Cullen hissed in pleasure, and Dorian's stomach twisted pleasurably as the other man dove forwards, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking gently on it. Dorian pulled back, his lip freed with a wet 'pop'. He smiled despite himself, leaning forwards to brush his lip against the red bite mark, hands sliding down over Cullen's hard body. He moved his fingers to Cullen's jeans, popping open the button, earning him a groan from his partner. He grinned, hands moving up, beginning to work on the buttons of Cullen's shirt. With each button, he would trace his hands over the newly freed skin, feeling Cullen's shivers. He was almost to the top button when he felt Cullen pulling back.  
“Oh?” he smirked, eyes travelling over Cullen's dishevelled state appreciatively, “giving me a hand, are you?”  
But then his eyes made their way to the blond's face, and the sadness in those amber eyes did not fit their current position.  
“What's wrong?”  
Cullen grimaced, standing and beginning to button himself up, “I...” he sighed, looking away from Dorian.  
Alarm bells began to ring in the mage's head and he sat up, shuffling over on the couch. His panic abated a little when Cullen sat back down beside him; though it returned just as swiftly when the Ferelden opened his mouth.  
“There's something I need to tell you.”  
Dorian swallowed hard, “go on.”  
“I've been sitting on this for a while, but I was thinking about it a few nights ago, and I just knew that I had to say this to you.”  
_Shit_ , Dorian thought, _shit shit shit. He's going to tell me he loves me._ He tried to give Cullen an encouraging smile, but, from the effort it took he imagined it looked far more like constipation.  
“I really like you” Cullen continued, oblivious to Dorian's internal struggle, “and I know that you mean something to me. Something deeper.”  
_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.  
“I just, I didn't want you to realise I'm not good for you.”  
_What?  
_ Cullen sighed, and Dorian, pulled out of his panic, could almost feel the exhaustion and pain in that sigh, “I've tried to come to terms with this for a long time. Tried to come to terms with _myself_ for a long time. I've never been able to tell people. To get close to people like how I've become with you. I was so scared of them finding out that I never even let them get close enough to even suspect. Until you.” Cullen offered Dorian a sad smile, but wouldn't meet his eyes. “Dorian I-”  
The phone rang, shrill and demanding, cutting Cullen off. The blond looked pained, eyes screwing shut, hands clenched into fists. Dorian shuffled closer, taking Cullen's hands into his.  
“Ignore it” he said, loud enough to be heard over the ringing, “it'll go straight to voicemail.”  
Cullen shook his head, his eyes desperate. He leaned in towards the Tevinter, talking loudly to be heard over the ring.  
“No, Dorian, I need to tell you. Please, understand, you mean so much to me and it would be shitty of me not to tell you now. Dorian, I have been ad-”  
The voicemail tone sounded with a loud beep. Cullen stopped, scowling quickly before opening his mouth to continue. But the voice that came through the machine made Dorian sit bolt upright.  
“Dorian” Gereon began, his voice strained, “Felix has taken a turn. He's stable but he's currently staying at Minrathous Private...”  
Dorian could see Cullen's face fall, some of the light seeping out of his eyes, but in that moment all he could think of was getting to the phone. He jumped over the back of the couch, scooping up the phone and jamming it to his head.  
“Gereon? Hello?!”  
“Oh, thank the Maker” came the tired voice from the other end.  
“What happened with Felix, is he alright?”  
“He is now, I'm told that he collapsed at work. He's been stabilised but he doesn't remember anything.”  
“Kaffas. Is this memory lapse regular now?”  
Gereon sighed, “it seems to be becoming that way.”  
“I need to-” Dorian heard a door close. He whirled around, faced with a now empty lounge room. “Cullen?” Silence.  
“Vishante kaffas! Gereon, I'll call you back!”  
Dorian slammed down the phone, throwing open his apartment door. His floor was deserted. He ran to the elevator, heart sinking when he realised that it was in use, and going down. Cursing the Maker and his bride, he ran for the stairs. He went as fast as he could, occasionally tripping in his hurry, trying to beat the elevator down five flights of stairs. When he finally reached the ground floor he burst out of the stairwell, sprinting through the lobby. He slammed open the front doors, jumping down the two front steps and onto the street. The empty street. Dorian looked up and down the road, squinting at the little spots of light under the streetlamps. But there was no sign of anyone. No Cullen.  
He felt the wind blow through him, the wintry night chilling him through his blazer in a way that he hadn't noticed on his walk home with Cullen. With a final forlorn scan of the street, he hung his head, wrapping his arms around his aching core and trudging back into his building.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Close To Me- The Cure


	9. Commercial For Levi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Another chapter so soon? I'm finally starting to get into the juicy part of the story, so my enjoyment with writing this has gone up immensely; I just hope you guys are enjoying it too!  
> As always, I love feedback :)

Dorian had spent most of the last week in a fog. With no word from Gereon, and Cullen completely M.I.A, the mage had spent the past couple of days a stressed mess. With his parent's influence in Tevinter, Dorian couldn't afford to call the hospital, he had no number for Gereon, and Felix hadn't picked up his phone. As for Cullen, he was sure the man's inbox was full of spam from him, and he had to have at least ten missed calls sitting on his screen, but, alas, Dorian had heard hide nor hair of his… boyfriend… partner… lover… ex… something. So, when he wasn't working, Dorian instead kept himself in the relatively painless bliss of drunkeness.  
It was Sunday morning and Dorian lay in his bed; his cold, empty bed. He was dumped, he was sure of it. Though he constantly replayed Cullen's words in his head, _I know that you mean something to me. Something deeper,_ he couldn't think of any other conclusion for why Cullen would walk out and completely cut him off. He sighed deeply, grabbing his pillow and holding it over his face. He felt ridiculous. Cullen was just a man. One man amongst the many that Dorian had been involved with. One man amongst the dozens that had up and left without a word. Yet none had left Dorian's heart aching the way this had. Shame prickled Dorian's skin, but all too quickly it turned to needles of anger.  
Dorian sat up, rage burning through him so quickly that had he been thinking clearly he may have been worried. _Fuck Cullen_ he hissed internally, standing, his feet slamming onto the ground, sending a wave of pain up through his soles. He strode to his wardrobe, snatching the first clothes he touched and throwing them on. He sauntered to the bathroom, hastily fixing his hair before brushing his teeth so angrily that he made his gums hurt. As he left, he grabbed his coat, ignoring Sera's questions as he swept out of the apartment.  
Once out on the street, Dorian set off towards the florist. Something in his expression must have warned people that he was Not In The Mood, as he found a path clearing before him as he stormed on. He kept his hands in his pockets, phone held firm in his grip as he attempted to ground himself against the anger growing tight in his chest. The mage lost his momentum, however, when he finally reached the flower shop. Standing outside its glass door, wreath of crystal grace present as always, Dorian could feel himself deflating. His rage had fizzled out over the long walk, now a dull nauseating hurt in the pit of his stomach. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he stepped inside.  
Lillith's head popped up at the sound of the bell, her bright service smile fading as she recognised Dorian. The anger sparked again in the mage, and he strode over to the counter, bracing himself against it.  
“Is Cullen here?”  
Lillith shook her head, leaning back against her chair awkwardly.  
“Then where is he?”  
“I don't know” Lillith's reply was small, her eyes downcast.  
Dorian huffed a laugh, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest.  
“That's rich. Getting his _boss_ in on his personal turmoils. Pray tell, when is Cullen next working?”  
“Dorian” the small elf sighed, her sad tone only serving to further feed Dorian's fury, “I haven't seen Cullen for a week.”  
The mage stopped short, anger draining out of him in an instant, replaced by worry, “haven't seen him?”  
“No, and he hasn't answered my calls or my texts” Lillith let her head fall into her hands, “I was hoping he was just skiving work and was off on a bender with you.”  
The mage let out a humourless laugh, “I just thought I'd been dumped.”  
Lillith gave a half-hearted hum of amusement, her eyes settled on the counter, “he's done this before, gone off without a word. Only for two or three days, though. Never this long."  
The small elf looked up at Dorian, tentative hope in her green eyes, "do you know anyone that knows where he lives? Or where he might be at least?”  
Dorian opened his mouth to give a negative, but stopped short as he remembered something, “I do, actually! We met at a mutual friend's party.” Dorian snatched his phone out of his pocket, “give me your number.”  
With Lillith's number now saved in his phone, the Tevinter half ran back to his apartment, almost colliding with people as he pulled Iron Bull's contact up, tapping impatiently at the call symbol. He jammed the phone to his ear, tittering as the phone rang once… twice…  
“What do you want?”  
Dorian breathed a sigh of relief, letting himself slow to a walk.  
“Bull” he panted, a little out of breath, “it's an emergency. Can you get in contact with Cassandra?”

***

Dorian sat in the back of Cassandra's Passat, trying to ignore Bull's massive hand trailing up and down the Seeker's thigh. That was a conversation for another time. Instead, he looked out of the window, his heart sinking further as the trio wound their way further into the suburbs of Amaranthine.  
“Cullen lives _here_?” he whispered, his horrified gaze fixed on the rundown houses and their overgrown lawns; the prevalence of abandoned houses alarming.  
“Yes” Cassandra's voice was quiet and sad from the driver's seat, “I have tried many times to convince him to move, but he refuses.”  
“I see” was all Dorian could say, and he let the car settle back into silence.  
The mage didn't think his heart could drop any lower, yet he felt it in his feet when they finally pulled into Cullen's driveway. The house was little more than a shack for how beaten up it was; boarded windows, dilapidated porch and a rusty sign reading “Haven” hung over the doorway. Dorian had to steady himself with a deep breath as he tried to imagine Cullen, with all his smiles and confidence and sweetness, coming home to this empty shell of a house each night.  
“Maker” he groaned, sadness stabbing him through, “what is Cullen doing to himself?”  
Falling in step behind Cassandra, Dorian and Bull made their way into the house.  
The front door swung open with the barest twist of the doorknob, revealing the saddest excuse for a home Dorian had ever seen. It wasn't a dump; far from it. The house was clean, the surfaces tidy, but it was so _bare_. There was a tiny table with one chair under a window, the moulded curtains blocking the sunlight, floorboards were lifting in places and what had once been floral wallpaper now hung faded in the few scraps that still clung to the wall. The party made their way further into the house, Dorian's eyes stinging with tears as the image of Cullen actually living here pounded its way further into his mind. They came into the living room and there, stretched out on the thinnest, most raggedy fold out couch, lay Cullen. Dorian pushed his way past Bull and Cassandra, dropping to his knees next to the man. He looked almost dead, his cheeks gaunt, dark circles standing out in harsh contrast to his sallow skin, his lips cracked and bleeding. The mage took Cullen's hand in his, feeling some relief when the blond's hand was warm against his. He felt something brush his shoulder and looked up, finding Cassandra standing over him, her fingers pressed to Cullen's stubbly throat.  
“His pulse is too fast” Cassandra murmured, “he's been using.”  
“Using?” Dorian's voice was choked, “using what?”  
Cassandra's expression was a harsh mix of pity and pain, “look behind you.”  
With a fresh wave of dread sweeping over him, Dorian steeled himself. Giving Cullen's hand a squeeze, he turned. He hadn't noticed it when he'd come into the room, preoccupied as he was with the sight of Cullen, but there on the coffee table lay an assortment of drug paraphernalia. Dorian felt cold all over as he took in the sight of the little metal spoon, the lighter, the empty bottle of deathroot extract, and the empty syringe.  
“Oh Cullen” he whispered, “what are you doing to yourself?”  
Bull stepped forwards, and Dorian was vaguely aware of the Qunari pulling Cassandra into his arms.  
“Will he wake up?” Bull voiced the question the Dorian was screaming inside his head; he looked up to Cassandra, his hope transparent on his face.  
“Yes” she sighed, “but possibly not for a few hours. We have no way of knowing how long ago he took it.”  
“And what is _it_?” the Tevinter eyed the syringe, nausea sitting in the bottom of his stomach.  
The Seeker gave Dorian a sad smile, “I think it would be best if he told you himself.”  
Dorian nodded, turning his attention back to Cullen. He lay his head down on the little couch mattress, his eyes locked onto Cullen's face. Hurt radiated through him and it was all he could do to lie there and let the tears he'd been holding in fall.

***

Dorian snapped awake as his head slipped off the mattress, just catching himself before he smacked into the coffee table. He blinked, trying to take in his surroundings as the fog of sleep cleared. His eyes fell on Cullen, and his current situation came rushing back. The Ferelden didn't stir, almost completely still as he lay on his back, mouth agape, the rise and fall of his chest the only indicator of life. He sighed, brushing a hand over the man's sunken cheek before pushing himself up off the ground. He heard low voices coming from the front room and he took a peek down the hall. Bull and Cassandra were sitting against the wall, the Qunari brushing a hand through Cassandra's hair as she lay with her head pillowed on his chest. Not wanting to intrude, but unable to look at Cullen's unconscious form any longer, Dorian decided to explore the house. He went to the room directly opposite from the lounge room, finding it to be a kitchen. The room was cramped, the cabinets and benches looking to be from decades ago. The fridge and freezer were empty, and all Cullen had in his pantry was a stale loaf of bread and some pasta. _Maker,_ Dorian thought sadly, _how did he slip so far in a week?_  
He went further into the house, finding a little bathroom, what looked to be a study, but he couldn't tell from the piles of boxes that filled the room, and finally, the bedroom. Dorian couldn't believe his eyes when he stepped in. The room, if it even constituted the name anymore, was a mess. The bed was broken, sagging in the middle, the mattress gone and the boards blackened with rot. The floorboards were damp and softened, chunks of them chipped off. The walls were covered in mould, rippled in places from water damage, all bathed in the sunlight that streamed in from the gaping hole in the roof. Bile rose in his throat as the smell of the mildew crawled up into his nose and he shut the door quickly, turning on his heel and making his way back to Cullen.  
Once back in the lounge room, his eyes quickly returned to the blond, his stomach fluttering as he realised that Cullen was moving. He rushed to the man's side, grasping his hand as he started to stir, Cullen's face screwing up as he squirmed.  
“Cullen?” Dorian's voice was panicked, and he moved his hand to the man's shoulder, gently shaking him, “wake up, please, it's Dorian.”  
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him but he ignored them, continuing his ministrations over Cullen. The man groaned, rolling onto his side, eyes fluttering, either trying to open them, or in a struggle to drift back into unconsciousness.  
“Please, Cullen” Dorian whispered, leaning in to kiss Cullen's cheek, stroking his hair back from where it had fallen across his face, “please just open your eyes.”  
And, with a final, soft moan, bloodshot amber eyes opened to meet storm grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Placebo- Commercial For Levi


	10. In The Cold Light Of Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this will be the last chapter for the next two or so weeks. I have my VA BOW due very soon, so I'm going to have to dedicate the next bit of time to getting that finished.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me so far, and I love all of your kudos and comments, and hope you're all enjoying reading!
> 
> Just a quick note about the lyrium and such; for this fic, I sort of have this headcanon that deathroot can be used as a depressant, and mixed with lyrium acts similar to heroin. Just as some clarification, in case there was any confusion about the conflicting accounts of Cullen's lyrium use. I wasn't able to find anywhere that it fit into the story without being too out of place.

A quiet voice in the darkness, a plea for him to wake, brought Cullen back to his centre.  
_Please…  
_ No  
Cullen let himself drift in the dark, his mind floating away once more. In the dark he felt nothing, no pain, no sorrow, nothing.   
_Cullen, please…  
_ NO  
The blackness wasn't oppressive, nor cold. It was so wide. So endless. So free.  
_Wake up, please…_  
Cullen felt his eyelids flutter, the light beginning to seep into his vision. He struggled to keep them shut, holding onto his high with all his strength.  
A soft brush of something on his cheek, an even softer voice.  
_Please just open your eyes._  
Cullen let out a sigh of defeat, the waking world taking him back as his eyes slowly opened. Light burned his eyes and he squinted, his blurred vision slowly coming back into focus. He could see the shape of someone in front of him and, startled, he shuffled back on the couch, his movements sluggish and clumsy.   
“Cullen, it's me” the sad voice from the dark emanated from the shape that was slowly focusing to reveal Dorian.  
Cullen relaxed, all but throwing himself at the Tevinter, wrapping his arms tight around him.  
“Dorian” he breathed, burying his face in the man's throat,“I've missed you so m-” he stopped, discomfort crashing over him. Cullen gently pushed Dorian off him, stumbling as he stood from the couch, the feeling in his feet returning as he rushed for the bathroom.  
The blond threw himself onto the floor in front of the toilet, wrenching the seat up and vomiting noisily. He felt hands against his forehead, brushing his hair out of his face. Cullen turned to thank whoever it was but before he could his stomach heaved once more, and the blond was forced back to the toilet bowl. The vomit chased the last of his euphoria from him, instead leaving him weak, sweaty, and with the sharp prickle of shame under his skin as the last week came back to him. Cullen rested his face against the cool porcelain. He reached over his head, flushing the toilet, letting the din stall for him.  
“I'm sorry” he croaked, once silence had fallen, “I'm so sorry for everything. For walking out. Making you feel like shit. For you having to find out about me like this.”  
He heard a heavy sigh behind him, but he couldn't find the strength to turn around. Instead, he continued to rest against the toilet, hands loose fists on his lap.  
“It was stupid. I shouldn't have left. You wouldn't have taken the call if it wasn't important. You wouldn't have done that if you hadn't had to” Cullen took a shuddery breath, fists tightening, “I _knew_ that. And I still walked out. Dorian. I am so sorry.”  
Finally, Cullen turned. Dorian stood behind him, leaning against the closed bathroom door, eyes red and puffy. Cullen made to stand, to reach out to the mage, but he shook his head, a hand held out. _Keep your distance.  
_ “Cullen” Dorian's voice was choked, and Cullen's heart broke for the hurt in it, “that call was from a friend of mine. Gereon Alexius. The son of whom, my best friend Felix, has the Blight.”  
“Dorian, I'm so sorry. I didn't-”  
Dorian held up a finger and Cullen stopped, closing his mouth and nodding for Dorian to continue.  
“That call was to tell me that Felix, my best friend since I was a child, is in hospital. Because he collapsed at work. Because he is losing his memory” the venom in Dorian's voice made him flinch, but he didn't bite back; instead he took the words like penance.  
“My best friend is dying!” Dorian continued, hysteria beginning to edge its way into his voice, “he's 27 years old and he is going to die. I needed you, Cullen. I needed you and you walked out on me. I called you and texted you. I wanted to look for you but I didn't even know where you fucking lived. And now I've found you. Fucking high in a falling down house, looking half dead. Please, explain.”  
Dorian's words each pierced Cullen like a knife, each hurt feeding an ire that began building in his chest. He wanted to fight back, but seeing the fragility of Dorian's composure, the undercurrent of betrayal in his voice, Cullen was able to reign in his temper.  
“I'm sorry” he whispered, unable to look Dorian in the eyes, “I'm sorry I left you like I did. It wasn't fair. I'm sorry about your friend. I'm sorry about everything.”  
“Stop saying sorry” Dorian spat, “stop being so evasive. Explain.”  
Cullen took a deep breath, forcing himself to look up at Dorian. His beautiful face was twisted with anger, but the expression was laced with hurt and sadness. Any reservations that Cullen had about telling him, he let go then. _He deserves the truth._  
“Dorian, I...” he ground his teeth, forcing the words out of himself, “I'm addicted to lyrium.”  
“Lyrium?” Dorian baulked, “Andraste's arse, Cullen; why are you taking lyrium?”  
“I was a Templar” Cullen explained, “in the South, Templars take lyrium. It helps give us our abilities, lets us control mages.   
“I served in Kinloch, a Circle here in Ferelden. Things went bad there, and I was posted in Kirkwall, as Knight-Captain. The city was in the middle of a mage rebellion. The Circles in the Free Marches aren't the same as the ones here. They're run much the same as they were centuries ago; prisons run under the guise of keeping the people safe from the mages and the mages safe from themselves” Cullen's tone was twisted with disgust. He glanced up at Dorian, but the man's face was unreadable.   
“I enjoyed it” he continued, letting his eyes fall back to the floor, “at first, at least. I was in charge, I was respected, and I could control _them._ I am a terrible person, but I like to believe that I've improved some since my time in the Gallows. When I served, I didn't see mages as people. They weren't human to me” he let out a bitter laugh, “I was so scared of them that I let them become monsters. I would find mages whom had escaped the Circle, escaped the _vile_ conditions that we kept them under and, while I seemed this unbreakable, intimidating Templar, in truth I wanted nothing more than to run in fear. I was weak, pathetic. And I let my fear, my one-eyed view of mages control me.”  
Dorian pushed off the door, “Cullen, you don't need to say any more.”  
Cullen shook his head, “please, let me finish. I need for you to know this.”  
The Tevinter looked as if he was about to argue but, after a moment's internal deliberation, he conceded, gesturing for Cullen to continue.  
Cullen nodded, “I found one of the rebel mages, Solona. She had been one of my charges when I was posted at Kinloch, and she was, arguably, my first love. But, after things went to shit, we were separated. But, she was there again at Kirkwall. When I found her, I remember thinking of her the way I used to think of all mages. Just people. Like me. Like you” he sighed, missing the quirk of Dorian's mouth, “I took her back to my quarters, thinking that we'd fall in love again like when we were teenagers. And I was so blinded by my hatred of mages, so sure in the distinction between them and us, that I couldn't even see it when she and my best friend were conspiring, in my home. He was helping her smuggle lyrium to the mage uprise.  
One day, I came home and they were… together. I was furious; I yelled at Solona and beat the shit out of my friend. I think Solona hit me because the next thing I knew, they were gone. They were both helping this mage, Anders. He used the lyrium to power mages, who in turned created these… weird, magic bombs. He blew up the Chantry.”  
Cullen stopped, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, “I watched from the steps of the Gallows as the Chantry imploded. There was a black hole where the Andrastian sun used to be. Hundreds died in the explosion. Hundreds of innocent people were ripped to shreds by whatever the fuck magic Anders created because I was too full of hate to see what Solona was doing. Too far up my own bigoted arsehole to listen when the mages I brought in tried to warn me.  
“I left the Order not long after that. I was granted the position of Knight-Commander but, with how far I had buried the city, I knew I couldn't be the one to dig it back out.”  
Cullen let his head fall, resting it on his arms, eyes focused on the floor. He felt Dorian sit down next to him, but couldn't bring himself to look up at him.  
“Why did they make you take lyrium?” Dorian asked quietly, “I've never heard of anyone but mages taking it. The abilities could be just as easily granted through the use of enchanted gear.”  
“It creates the perfect soldier” Cullen responded blandly, keeping his head down, “I don't know how it would feel to a mage- I've never thought to ask one- but, to me, it's euphoria. When on lyrium, you feel no fear, no inhibition, no pain. You would readily throw yourself into any situation. So, you end up with super-powered soldiers who feel and fear nothing. It's also extremely addictive; lyrium acted like a leash, keeping Templars under the control of the Chantry. We couldn't get out.”  
“That's disgusting” Dorian hissed, and Cullen lifted his head, flinching at the intensity of Dorian's steely eyes, “that's an abuse of power, how is it allowed to go on?”  
Cullen smiled sadly, “I know that, in Tevinter, the Archon is in charge, but down here the Chantry holds all the power. What they say, goes, and they realised that, to get the Templars to adhere to their sick ideologies, they had to be the hand that feeds. I thought I got out, but I'm still bound to the Order, every time I take lyrium.”  
Cullen started when he felt Dorian's hand close around his own. He squeezed it gently, running his thumb over the mage's knuckles.   
“Cullen” Dorian started slowly, chewing on his bottom lip, “I like you, very much. For the first time in a long time I have true, genuine feelings for someone. And you're not a terrible person, the last two months have proven the opposite. But, I can't be with you.”  
Cullen felt his heart drop to his feet, “I… see.”  
Dorian made a face, “If you'd let me continue. I can't be with you like this. Either you quit lyrium, or I go” he sighed, “I can't do this again. Seeing you like that on that couch. Seeing you look so sick and dead. What did you eat? Did you even eat? I suppose I don't want to know. Anyway, I will help you quit. I'll do all I can to make it as easy as possible. I care about you, and seeing you like that, I was out of my mind with worry.”  
“I care about you, too” Cullen said softly, reaching out to put a hand on Dorian's cheek, “I wanted to tell you. This is what I was going to tell you that night, but I was so scared and when you got the phone I just lost my nerve. Made it worse in my head, then just buried it all in lyrium” he grimaced, “I'll quit. I've wanted to for so long, but I've never been able to make it more than a few days before I slip-up. I need your help.”

Dorian smiled, a small tentative smile that did a little to ease the heavy guilt in Cullen's stomach. He smiled back, pulling Dorian into a hug.   
“I missed you” he whispered, tightening his arms around the man.  
“And I you” came Dorian's soft reply, his arms snaking around Cullen's neck.   
The Ferelden sighed, leaning back and looking into Dorian's eyes.  
“I am sorry” he said quietly, gently running a thumb along the mage's jaw, “for hurting you like I did. For not telling you sooner.”  
“Apology accepted” Dorian's smile widened a little, leaning his head into Cullen's palm.  
“And thank you” Cullen continued, “for giving me a chance, even when I don't deserve it.”  
Before Dorian could argue Cullen quickly leaned in, capturing the Tevinter's lips in a soft kiss. Dorian returned the kiss, and Cullen relished the way the man leaned into his embrace. He ended the kiss with a soft nip on the other man's bottom lip, leaning back to rest his forehead against Dorian's.  
They sat like that for a while, eyes closed, hands linked, slowly healing the hurt of the tumultuous week apart.   


***  


Dorian helped Cullen clean up, the withdrawal already starting to work its way into his bones, his joints aching with every move.   
He was bundled into the shower by Dorian, who washed his greasy hair while Cullen let the hot water run over his back, soothing the knots that always worsened after he came down. He had his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of Dorian's fingers in his hair, when he heard the man mumble. something  
“What did you say?” he asked over the squeal of his shower head, squinting at the mage as water ran over his eyes.  
“It's nothing” Dorian said quickly, gently tilting Cullen's head back to wash the shampoo out of his hair.  
“Please tell me” Cullen said quietly, reaching out to touch Dorian's arm.  
The Tevinter sighed, stilling his hands in Cullen's hair. “Have I ever seen you sober? Before now?”  
Cullen grimaced, “twice. The day after we met, when we first kissed, and the last time I saw you. I ah… didn't think it appropriate to be high when I told you the truth.”  
Dorian nodded, resuming his task of rinsing Cullen's hair, “so I've met the real you then?”  
Cullen hummed softly, “you have” he reached back, turning the shower off before stepping out, “with all the awkwardness and flushing that comes with me.”  
Dorian chuckled quietly, wrapping a towel around Cullen's waist, “honestly, I prefer the real you.”  


***  


Dressed and clean, Cullen finally made his way into the lounge room, following behind Dorian. He wiped at his eyes, which had begun to sting and water, while he could feel the twist of cravings constrict his stomach. All thoughts were pushed from his mind when a loud voice broke the silence of the house.  
“Cullen!”   
His head snapped up, wincing at the sight of Cassandra standing with her arms crossed, face stoic, matching the expression of the massive Qunari behind her.  
“Cass, Bull” Cullen greeted them, giving a sheepish smile, which faltered quickly when Cassandra strode over to him. Cullen scrunched his face up, tensing for a slap, but instead started when he felt the tall woman drag him into a tight embrace.  
“I was so worried” she admonished, her face buried against his chest, “I thought that I may have lost my best friend.” She suddenly stiffened, leaning back, holding Cullen at arm's length, “what happened? You promised me that you had quit. You swore that, after what happened you were done. Why did you lie to me?”  
“I wasn't lying. Not when I said it” he added quickly, noting the angry twist to Cassandra's face, “I thought I was done. I wanted to be done. But I was weak, I couldn't do it.”  
“You are not weak” Cassandra growled, her accent further accentuating each word, “and this is the last time I will find you like this, yes?”  
Cullen nodded.  
“Good. And you will not be alone this time. You always have me, and now, you have Dorian, too. Do not let this happen again, Cullen” she sighed, placing her hand on Cullen's shoulder, “I care for you, Cullen. Remember that.”  
Before he knew what she was doing, Cassandra leaned in, giving Cullen a gentle kiss on the cheek.  
“Be safe” and, with a final smile to Dorian, she turned, “come, Bull. Let's get something to eat on the way home.”  
Once Cassandra was out of the building, the Iron Bull stepped forwards, glowering down at Cullen.  
“You seem like a nice guy, Cullen” Bull said, his voice low and dangerous, “and Cassandra and Dorian both seem convinced that you are. But I'm watching you.”  
“Bull, I-”  
“Quiet, Dorian. I need to tell him something” the Qunari turned back to Cullen, and he couldn't help but notice the way Bull's biceps strained against the material of his shirt, and how easily they could probably crush him, “you ever hurt Dorian, or Cass, I will fuck you up. Got it?”  
Cullen nodded violently, the motion making his head spin.  
“Good” Iron Bull grinned, straightening up and placing a hand on Cullen's shoulder, his tone considerably warmer, “I'm glad you're okay.”  
And with that, the giant horned man made to leave, ducking under the doorway, closing the front door quietly behind him.  
Cullen turned around to Dorian, who was leaning back against the couch, amusement curling up the ends of his moustache.  
“Today” Cullen started, stumbling over to Dorian, wrapping his arms around him, “has been a very very odd day.”  
“That's an understatement” Dorian murmured, beginning to run his fingers through Cullen's hair.  
Cullen sighed under the ministrations, nuzzling his face into Dorian's shoulder.  
“This time will be different” he breathed, “I won't go back. I won't do that to you, or Cass.”  
“Or yourself” Dorian said quietly.  
“Or myself” Cullen agreed, “I used the last of my stash. All of my deathroot too. I won't be buying more, ever. I promise.”  
He felt Dorian kiss his head, the most tender brush of lips against his hair, “then I promise that I'll be here for you, no matter how hard it is.”  
Cullen smiled, warmth spreading through his core. He hugged Dorian closer to him. At that moment, he felt the two of them shift, moving closer to something real, rather than something casual. Something solid. Permanent.  
“Dorian, I...” he faltered, not wanting to push his luck, “you mean so much to me.”  
“As you do to me” Dorian sighed back.   
Cullen decided that this was the man whom he'd do anything for and there, in Dorian's arms, safe from anything and anyone else, was where he wanted to spend the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In The Cold Light Of Morning- Placebo


	11. Into The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen stays at Dorian's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter! But, now my trials are done, all my assignments are handed in and my major work is complete, so I have heaps more free time in which I can continue this fic!
> 
> This chapter was so stupidly hard to write, so I'm sorry if it's a little clunky. Also, sorry that this is again more angst. I promise there is some happy stuff coming!!!
> 
> As always, I love to hear feedback, and your kudos give me life!

Cullen sat on the little balcony of Dorian's apartment, feet tucked under him as he looked out onto the dying sunset. He took a final draw from his cigarette, stubbing it in the little ashtray before pulling another from the carton. He let the smoke slowly seep from his nose, shoving the new cigarette between his teeth as he fiddled with the lighter. He'd finally managed to get the end to take to the flame when he heard the glass door behind him slide open.  
“How many is that today?” Dorian's smooth voice asked, the man coming to sit next to Cullen on the little sun lounge.  
Cullen sighed, resting his head against Dorian's shoulder as he took a long pull.  
“Five” he admitted, a little reluctantly. He knew that he was leaning on smoking too heavily. He'd only really done it as a social activity before, but now that his lyrium was gone, he found he couldn't go too long without one. They didn't stop the cravings for the blue, but they were a crutch.  
“That's the last one today” the Tevinter said, reaching down to squeeze Cullen's hand.  
“I-”  
Cullen shrunk back at the steely look that Dorian gave him, nodding in defeat.  
“Last one” he affirmed glumly.  
He closed his eyes as he felt Dorian's hand rake through his hair, fingertips gentle over his scalp. He groaned, leaning into the touch.  
“How are you feeling?”  
_Awful_ , Cullen wanted to say, t _he headaches_ _are worse; I_ _c_ _an feel them behind my_ _eyes,_ _like they're_ _about to burst from their sockets._ _The aches feel as if my bones are going to break when I walk. This isn't worth it. I want lyrium._  
“I'm alright” he said instead, “just like yesterday.”  
“Hmm” was all Dorian had in response, and Cullen knew what he could see. Cullen's runny nose, the way his eyes were puffed up and weeping. The wet patches on his shirts from where his skin was constantly slick with sweat. The scratch marks on his abdomen from where he clawed at himself, both in pain, and anxiety.  
“I'm sorry” he whispered, pressing his face to Dorian's chest.  
He felt the cigarette being plucked from his fingers before hands came to rest on his back, trailing patterns along his spine.  
“It's alright, Cullen” the other man murmured, “you'll get through this.”  
He felt a kiss ghost on his forehead, and he nuzzled further into Dorian, reaching forwards to wrap his arms around the other man's waist.  
“With you, I don't doubt it” came Cullen's hushed reply.  
The two men held tight to each other, curling in closer as the warmth of the day faded as the moon rose.  
“I think I'm gonna be sick”  
Cullen started as a voice broke the silence that had settled over he and Dorian. He lifted his face from the man's chest, looking over his shoulder. Sera stood in the doorway, two steaming mugs in her hands. She stepped closer, and Cullen could feel her scrutiny as her eyes travelled over him.  
“Heard you were feeling shit, yeah?” she pressed the mugs into Cullen's and Dorian's hands, “made you these.”  
“What is it?” Cullen asked, looking down into the murky brown liquid in his mug.  
“Elfroot” she screwed up her face, “tastes shite but helps headaches and all that crap.”  
Cullen nodded, taking a sip from his mug. He gagged as soon as the liquid hit his tongue. It was like someone had boiled mud.  
Sera sniggered, “told you.”  
Cullen swallowed, shuddering as the vile liquid went down, “thank you.”  
“Am I safe to assume that _I_ just have regular coffee?” Dorian asked, looking suspiciously into his own mug.  
“I wouldn't assume anything” the elf grinned wickedly, sliding the door closed behind her as she retreated into the apartment.  
“Fasta vass. That girl will be the death of me” Dorian grumbled, taking a cautious sip from his mug. He spluttered, coughing, and Cullen patted his back gently.  
“She put _salt_. In my coffee”.  
Cullen giggled, taking another drink from his mug, “I like her”.  
Dorian turned, fixing Cullen with a glare.  
“That's because you don't have to live with her.”

 

 

***

  
The hot water of the shower burned Cullen's skin. He closed his eyes as he let the water run over his back, trying anything to chase the aches that seemed to have settled permanently in his muscles. He felt so tired. Just standing there, he could feel how much his withdrawals had taken over his body; his ribs were beginning to show through, his stomach was distended and his skin was sallow. He groaned, leaning back against the shower wall.  
Over the rush of the water, he could hear voices out in the kitchen. From the pitch, they were Dorian's and Sera's. He couldn't hear what they were saying- didn't want to, as he couldn't stand eavesdropping- but he could hear Sera's tone clearly. She was worried.  
Cullen stuck his head directly under the shower head, letting the water fill his ears and drown out the voices. He didn't want to hear, didn't want to know. He hadn't heard what they were disagreeing over, but from the looks Sera had given him earlier, he could guess. Cullen kept his head under the water for as long as he could, but too soon he was out of breath, and each time he opened his mouth it filled with the water that streamed down his face. He straightened up, and immediately his ears were assaulted by Sera's raised voice.  
“-barely know him.”  
Cullen couldn't make out Dorian's response, but Sera's came even louder.  
“Don't talk to me like I'm stupid! This isn't like that and I don't want you getting hurt.”  
Cullen flinched when he heard Dorian yell, “I would thank you for your concern but I'd rather thank you for keeping your nose _out_ of my business!”  
“Well then you can stick your business up your ar-”  
“That's enough!” Iron Bull's boomed over the bickering pair, and the room fell silent. Cullen strained to hear more, but the three had fallen back to muted tones.  
A strange, hollow feeling settled in Cullen's stomach. He had caused an argument between Dorian and his friends. The hollowness twisted into nausea, and he rested back against the shower wall; they had confirmed the fears that sat in the back of Cullen's mind, rearing up every time he let his guard down too far. He was bad for Dorian, and they knew it. He let out a quiet, humourless laugh. That was why he didn't eavesdrop.  
Cullen's head snapped up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Dorian stepped through, brow furrowed, mouth set in a small frown. Without speaking, he undressed, never acknowledging Cullen. Still in silence, he opened the shower door, joining Cullen under the spray of water. The Ferelden wound his arms around the shorter man, holding him to his chest tight.  
“It's okay” he whispered, pressing a kiss into Dorian's hair, the dampness making it revert to its natural curls, “I've got you.”  
They stood in silence for what felt simultaneously like hours and seconds, until Cullen could feel his fingers pruning and the water beginning to run cold.  
“Hey” he murmured, gently turning Dorian's face up, a small part of him breaking when he saw the redness in his partner's eyes, “let's go to bed.”  
Dorian nodded, and Cullen shut off the water. He stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying himself. He turned back, finding Dorian still standing in the shower cubicle, arms wrapped around himself, face set in a scowl that would have been intimidating, had it not been for his puffy eyes.  
Cullen reached out, brushing his hand lightly over Dorian's wrist, “come on. I'll make you a tea, then we'll go to bed.”  
With some quiet coaxing, Dorian was out of the shower and, mugs washed up in the sink, Cullen led the two of them down the hall and into Dorian's room.

 

***

  
Cullen pressed himself against the brick wall, holding a hand to the blood flowing freely from his face. He gently poked at the slice in his lip, wincing as the tender flesh throbbed with the contact. He could hear the screams of people- his comrades or his enemies, he didn't know- but couldn't see them through the thick smoke that filled the corridor. He pushed himself up, limping along, his gun held loosely against his chest.  
The Hold had fallen so quickly.  
The floor twisted beneath him and he tripped, face scraping along the concrete floor. He tasted blood and he licked his lips, inwardly shuddering as his tongue caught at the gash that bisected his mouth. Lifting his head his stomach turned, seeing the bodies of his fellow troops, their limbs twisted in unnatural positions, faces frozen into expressions of horror and agony. Cullen cried out, scrambling back, but he felt himself sinking, engulfed by the mass of bodies. He struggled as the hands of his dead friends grasped at him, their unmoving mouths begging him to help them as he fell deeper amongst the corpses, their unseeing eyes staring into his. The young man screamed, his mouth filling with blood, making him choke and gargle, his strangled breaths quickening. He closed his eyes, praying to be anywhere else as he felt cold fingers pull at his face, his hair, his body, all reaching for his warmth.  
They opened again to the sound of a low thrumming. Cullen lay alone, the blackness of the empty space only interrupted by the glowing of the purple sphere that hovered around him. He slowly sat up, wrapping his arms around himself. His hands came in contact with skin, and he looked down. He was free of his armour, instead completely bare, goosebumps raised at the chill in the cavernous room.  
“Hello?” he called quietly, his voice boyish and vulnerable, high with fear.  
His voice echoed around him, repeated back to him by the walls of the space again and again until a new voice interrupted his.  
“Hello.”  
Cullen squinted into the darkness, but couldn't find the source of the voice.  
“Where are you?” he tried to ask, but the question was almost indiscernible, choked with terror as it was. But, his formless companion heard it nonetheless.  
He felt a whisper on his shoulder, “right here.”  
Cullen spun, and standing over him was Amell. She was nude as well, fingers tracing over her voluptuous form.  
“Do you want me, Cullen?” she cooed, leaning forwards, pressing closer into his space. She reached out, trailing her fingertips down his jaw. Cullen flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut.  
“Oh?” she laughed above him, “is this no longer what you desire?”  
“How about this?”  
A deeper voice snaked its way into Cullen's ears, and his eyes snapped open.  
“Dorian?”  
Dorian smiled down at him, the expression not quite meeting his eyes, which glinted with malice, “yes, my love.”  
Cullen sighed in relief, throwing himself at the man, who knelt down to meet his embrace. He melted into the Tevinter's arms as Dorian began to kiss his throat, lips making a path along his shoulders.  
“Do you love me, Cullen?” Dorian whispered, his voice low and seductive. Cullen nodded vigorously against the man's chest, shuddering under his ministrations.  
“Good” Dorian murmured, and Cullen jumped as he felt a stab of pleasure as Dorian bit his shoulder before putting his lips to his ear, “I will love you too, if you do one thing for me.”  
“Anything” Cullen rasped, without lifting his head.  
“You have to kill them all.”  
_Cullen?_  
Cullen looked up, and the face of his lover had twisted. His grin was wider, his eyes blazed yellow, and from his head protruded two long horns.  
Cullen scrambled from the demon's side, “you're not Dorian.”  
“I could be” it rumbled, crawling towards him, “I look like him, no? Speak like him. Act like him.”  
“You're not him” Cullen repeated, his back pressed up against the magical barrier.  
_Cullen!_  
“Yet I say all the things you wish he would” the demon grinned. It wrapped its long fingers around Cullen's ankles, yanking sharply. Cullen landed hard on his back, his breath knocked out of him. He gasped for air, struggling in vain as he felt the demon crawl over him.  
_CULLEN!_  
“I could give you everything you desire” it crooned, settling on his stomach. Its hands trailed up Cullen's arms, pinning them over his head, “just think of how happy I could make you.”  
It leaned closer, trailing its long forked tongue over Cullen's abdomen, up his chest and along his jaw. It pressed its lips to Cullen's, “I love you.”  
Cullen snapped awake. He tried to sit up but felt something in the dark pinning him to the bed. His mind flashed back to the demon, still twisting around his mind, and he struggled, breathing verging on hyperventilation.  
“Cullen, wake up!”  
One of the hands left his wrist and Cullen moved like lightning. He reached in front of him until his hand felt a solid form and he _pushed_. He heard a cry of surprise as the rest of the weight was off him, followed by a loud thud from next to him. He reached out blindly, finding the switch to the lamp next to him, and the room was bathed in light.  
He sat bolt upright, chest heaving as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't at Kinloch. He was in a bedroom. Whose bedroom? He looked around, panic rising once more as he struggled to figure out where he was.  
“Cullen?”  
A quiet voice from beside him made Cullen start. His head whipped to the source of the noise; Dorian pressed up against the wall, eyes wide in shock, his arm cradled to his chest. Slowly, everything started to make sense. He was in Dorian's apartment, in his room. He was safe, it wasn't real.  
“Dorian” Cullen breathed in relief, reaching out to his lover. Dorian flinched away, wary eyes trained on Cullen's hand.  
“What” he choked, and Cullen ached for the fear that was clear on Dorian's face, “was that?”  
Cullen deflated, pulling his hand back and collapsing against the bed head, “I should have told you.”  
“Told me what, exactly?”  
The Ferelden sighed, looking over to the mage, “come up here, please” he again held out his hand, “please.” Tentatively, Dorian took it, still nursing his arm a little. Cullen blanched when he saw the bruise that was already beginning to bloom along his forearm.  
“I'm sorry” he whispered, gently pulling Dorian up onto the bed, “I should have told you. I should've-”  
“Told me what, Cullen?” Dorian interrupted, his voice a painful mix of hurt, fear and anger, “I don't appreciate this pronoun game.”  
Cullen nodded, taking a deep breath, “I get these… night terrors.”  
“That much is obvious” Dorian said quietly, when Cullen had fallen into silence, “what about?”.  
“I… yes” the blond pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees, “about…. About my time in Kinloch Hold.”  
Cullen paused, waiting for a reaction, but received none. He turned to Dorian, who was just looking at him expectantly.  
“You don't know about Kinloch?”  
“Should I?”  
“Kinloch Hold” Cullen began slowly, trying to fight the memories that were trickling back into his mind, “was the mage prison on Lake Calenhad. It was also the site of the most horrific massacre in Ferelden in recent times.”  
“And you were a Templar there?” Dorian's expression had softened, eyebrows pulled together in concern.  
“And I was a Templar there” Cullen affirmed, “I was young, and it was my first post.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “I had barely been there a year when it all went to shit. A mage there was found to have been conspiring to escape, using blood magic. I don't even know how he resisted the magebane. But, then again, corruption was rife amongst my fellow Templars. Not that I could see it at the time.  
He was put into isolation, but that just made everything worse. He… He...”  
Cullen's fingers tightened in his hair, threatening to pull the strands from his scalp. A warmth gently rested on his arm, and his hold relaxed under Dorian's hand. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.  
“He turned himself into an abomination” he managed, enunciating each word deliberately, “he broke out of his cell, releasing those whom had been practising blood magic with him. Those who hadn't, and those who didn't get out in the evacuation, they were killed. The blood mages _let_ themselves become abominations. They _wanted_ to be possessed. The entire complex was overrun with demons. My whole company was slaughtered. Every single person in the building was murdered. Except me.  
I was tortured for days. Starved and dehydrated but not allowed to die. Taunted by demons while I heard my comrades- my friends- scream.”  
He sighed, lifting his head so he could look Dorian in the eye, “that's where I go in my nightmares. Kirkwall. Kinloch. They're one and the same in my head.”  
Before he could stop himself, Cullen leaned forwards, pulling Dorian into a tight embrace, “I'm so sorry I hurt you” he hissed, voice thickening, “the withdrawals make it worse, but I thought that, if I was with you... I'm sorry that I did that to you.”  
The Tevinter relaxed into Cullen's arms, wrapping his own around the blond man's waist.  
“It's okay” Dorian murmured, “you can't control it, amicus. But” he pulled back, and Cullen stilled under the seriousness in Dorian's storm grey eyes, “there can be no more secrets between us, alright?”  
“Of course” Cullen leaned in, pressing his lips gently to Dorian's, “I promise I won't keep anything from you.”  
Dorian returned the kiss, murmuring against Cullen's lips, “thank you. And I from you.”  
“I l-” Cullen caught himself. He would not make that admission on the tail end of what had just happened, “I care for you.”  
Dorian hummed happily, “as you've said so before.”  
“I. Yes. I suppose I have.”  
Dorian reached forwards, pulling Cullen to lie against his chest, “do you think you can sleep again? Or would you like to stay up for a while?”  
Guilt rushed over Cullen in a wave. “Stay up for a bit” came his meek response. But Dorian didn't seem to mind. His fingers began to brush through Cullen's hair, drifting lazily over his scalp and along his neck. He fought to stay awake, but soon his tiredness grew heavy on his eyelids. He closed his eyes, listening as Dorian began to murmur in Tevene.  
“What are you saying?” he asked, voice already slurring with sleep.  
“It's a story” was Dorian's hushed answer.  
“About?”  
“A mage and a Templar.”  
Cullen gave a final hum of acknowledgement as sleep finally took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Into The Void- Nine Inch Nails


	12. Protect Me From What I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull is worried about his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much those of you who have stuck with me this far. I'm graduating in a week so I'm hoping that after that point I'll be able to post chapters much more regularly. As always, I love feedback!!

Dorian was woken on his day off by the sudden drop of a warm weight over his chest. He jerked into consciousness, eyes bleary as the morning sunlight stung them. He turned to his left, jumping a little as he came nose to nose with Cullen, who lay sleeping on his stomach, breathing heavily, arm slung over Dorian's torso. The mage smiled sleepily, gaze roving fondly over Cullen's slack mouth, the way his curls twisted haphazardly, sticking up in odd directions, and the awkward angles of his limbs. His soft snores made the few ringlets that hung over his face flutter just a little. Still smiling, Dorian snuggled further underneath Cullen's arm, pressing himself against the man's warm body. He closed his eyes, and was just dozing off again when a shrill beeping wrenched his eyes back open.  
Cullen jolted, his hand shooting out the side, searching blindly for the source of the noise. Having found the offending phone, he began to fumble with it. Dorian pursed his lips as Cullen shut off the alarm, throwing the phone off the bed and closing his eyes again. He lay there for a while, looking up at the ceiling while his bed partner continued to lay there. When it was clear that Cullen had every intention to go back to sleep, he sighed, turning to face the man.  
“Cullen” he said sternly, still laying on his back, voice thick with sleep.  
Cullen grunted in response, turning his head towards Dorian, eyes firmly shut.  
“Wake up” he shoved at Cullen's shoulder, none too softly.  
The Ferelden swatted at Dorian's hand, rolling onto his side, “'m awake”.  
Dorian groaned, sitting up. He reached down gripping the blankets and yanking them, completely exposing Cullen's naked form to the morning chill. Cullen whined, curling in on himself, reaching for the blankets.  
“Up”.  
Cullen opened one eye, turning and affixing Dorian with a groggy glare. When the mage sat, unrelenting, now swaddled in the pilfered blankets, the other man rolled his eyes, slowly pulling himself out of the bed.   
“You're evil” he hissed on the way out, reaching over to muss up Dorian's already wild bed hair. The Tevinter smiled, smug, before snuggling back down to resume his dozing.   


***  


The smell of coffee was what greeted Dorian when he finally reawakened, far less irritable than he had been. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying not to think about how much he wished he had taken off his eyeliner the night before. He yawned, stretching, letting his joints pop and crack before he stood, shuffling down the hallway into the kitchen.   
Iron Bull sat at the bench, looking ridiculous in his cow pyjamas as he ate his breakfast, and Cullen stood by the counter, leaning over two mugs. He looked far more put together now, hair tamed and tucked under his beanie, shirt neat and in his least ragged jeans. When Dorian entered the room, the ex Templar looked up, face splitting into a grin when he saw who it was.  
“Coffee?” Cullen asked, picking up the kettle as it finished boiling.  
Dorian nodded sliding into the chair next to Bull as Cullen finished up the coffees, handing the two men a mug each. Dorian gratefully accepted it, taking an experimental sip. It was sweeter than he expected, though still good. He smiled up at Cullen.  
“Thank you, amicus” he reached out, lazily trailing his hand over Cullen's arm. Cullen grinned back, moving to twine his fingers with Dorian's.  
“No worries… pal” the corners of Cullen's eyes crinkled with humour. Dorian so badly wanted to reach up and pull him down for a kiss. Just twist his fingers in those golden curls and… His train of thought was interrupted with the scrape of metal against linoleum. He jerked out of his reverie, staring into Cullen's whiskey eyes, to turn as Iron Bull stalked out of the kitchen.  
“Did I.. say something?” the Ferelden's voice was meek, worry in his eyes as he watched Bull's retreating back. Dorian squeezed his hand tighter.  
“Not at all” he smirked, “Bull just hates what he calls 'lovey dovey gooey shit'”.  
Cullen nodded, looking down into his coffee pensively. After a minute, he sighed “I've got to go home today.”  
“What? Why?”   
Cullen lifted his gaze, eyes soft and sad, “I've overstayed my welcome.”  
“While that may be true” Dorian teased gently, trailing his fingers over Cullen's arm, “isn't it always a little exciting to break the rules?”  
The blond chuckled, “I'm not sure that applies to household conventions” he smiled sadly, “I can't stay here forever. Besides, I have to adjust to living alone. I can't lean on you as a crutch; I'm going home after work today.”  
Dorian sighed, pouting, “fine. And, I suppose, as much as I hate to see you leave, I do so love to watch you go.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, smiling as he leaned in. Dorian turned his face up, capturing Cullen's lips in a kiss. He could tell the Ferelden meant for the kiss to be quick and chaste, but he could not help the way his fingers twisted into the blond curls at the nape of his neck. He bit Cullen's lip gently, heat rushing through him as the man moaned into his mouth. He stood, making to pull Cullen closer when he heard the man groan.  
“Dorian, I'm going to be late.”  
Dorian pulled back reluctantly, but not before cheekily nipping Cullen's throat, earning a hiss of pleasure from the man, “fine. As long as you're aware that you're ruining all the fun.”  
Cullen gave him a lopsided grin, “oh, I'm well aware.”  
With a final kiss, Cullen walked down the hall, waving goodbye as he exited the apartment.  
Dorian sighed, sinking back down into his seat. As he warmed his now lukewarm coffee, he thought about the day of nothing ahead of him, wondering about how he could fill the hours until he could fall back into his bed; which would now be cold and empty that night.  


***  


  
Dorian threw his towel onto the floor of his bedroom, wandering over to his dresser. He was just pulling on a pair of tracksuit pants when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.  
“Come in” he sung out, tugging his head through his shirt.  
The door swung open and Bull stepped in, leaning against the wall. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders forward.   
Dorian plopped himself on his bed, crossing his legs in front of him, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
“I need to talk to you.”  
“And so you are” Dorian teased, winking at Bull, “the wonders never cease.”  
Bull grimaced, “I'm worried about you”. He sighed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, refusing to look at Dorian, “Look, I know you're pissed, but Sera was right the other night.”  
Dorian scowled up at his friend, “yes, well, if Sera was so worried about me she has a strange way of showing it. She hasn't looked nor spoken to me since her little blow up.”  
“That isn't the point” Bull growled, “the point is she was concerned about you and you were an arsehole about it.”  
“Me? I-”  
“We're getting off topic” Bull cut in sharply, “she's worried about her friend, and whatever you feel for this Cullen guy, fact is, you barely know him.”  
Dorian felt his hands ball into fists, “you know him far less than I. I _trust_ him” he sighed, trying to calm himself, “I've known him for a few months now. He's a good man. And besides, whatever I feel, we're not serious.”  
Bull scoffed, “yea, could've fooled me that this 'isn't serious', seeing how he just spent a fucking week here while you rehabilitated him.”  
Dorian couldn't believe what he'd just heard his friend say, “and what would you have done, hmm? Fucking left him there? Up and abandoned him? He _needed_ my help, Bull.”  
“Yea, and I'm all for helping people, but with the whole addiction, plus the disappearing act, he certainly seems a bit toxic to me.”  
“Bull!” Dorian was barely holding back his anger, “you're not changing my mind on this. I'm an adult, I make my own decisions, and I have decided to trust him.”  
“Oh yeah?” Bull bounced on his heels in agitation, “then why haven't you told him you're a mage yet, huh?”  
Dorian was stunned into silence, “I… he...”  
“That's what I thought” Bull walked over to Dorian, sitting himself down on the bed next to him, “you can't be scared to tell him stuff” his voice was a bit softer, gentler, “he isn't good for you, Dorian. Not if you're too scared to tell him who you really are.”  
“I'm not scared” Dorian insisted, resting his head against the qunari's broad shoulder, “he was a Templar. I just don't know how he'll react to dating an apostate, especially with how bad his withdrawals are.” He sighed, “I just want to give him some time.”  
He heard Bull take a deep breath next to him, “I heard what he told you the other night.”  
Dorian stilled, confused, “what he told me…?”  
“About Kinloch Hold.”  
The mage felt his blood boil. He jumped up, unable to look at the qunari, let alone sit next to him, “he told me that in confidence.”  
“Stuff like that can really fuck someone up” Bull continued, ignoring Dorian's outburst, “now, I don't pretend to like Templars, or the Chantry, but from what I heard, and what I know about the whole Kinloch thing, that was some real dark shit that happened in there.”  
Dorian still refused to turn, so he stood with his back to Bull, staring at the wall, trembling with agitation. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, jerking himself out of Bull's grip. Bull sighed, withdrawing, “all I'm saying is, he got hurt bad. By mages. And I think you know how bad it'll be if he finds out you're one of _them_.”  
Dorian whipped around suddenly, eyes ablaze with anger. “Don't” he snarled, jabbing a finger at Iron Bull's bare chest, “presume to know _anything_ about him. Because you don't. He is not that man anymore. He has changed. He _told_ me that he had been hurt by mages. He _told_ me that, for a long time, he had difficulty with them. And he _told_ me that that isn't him anymore.”  
Bull laughed humourlessly, “yea, because you've never heard the 'I've changed' spiel before.”  
“This is none of your business!” Dorian yelled, “I can date whomever I fucking please.”  
“Oh yeah” Bull jeered, “because that's gone so well before.”  
“What is your problem?!”  
“You!” the Qunari shouted, finally raising his voice, “you are my problem, Dorian! This guy. This thing with this fucking ex-Templar junkie!” He stopped, taking a few calming breaths before continuing, softer, “I know you, and this guy, he isn't you. He isn't good for you.”  
Dorian's skin prickled with anger. He stalked forwards, getting up in Bull's face as best he could, “just because you're Ben Hassarath, doesn't mean you know everyone” he spat, “you don't know Cullen, and you certainly don't know me. Do not patronise me and don't you dare to presume to know for a second what is good for me.”  
Iron Bull sighed, putting his hands up in defeat, “All right. You're an adult. Do what you fucking want.”  
Dorian nodded stiffly, striding over to his door and holding it open, gesturing for Bull to leave. The Qunari stood, looking straight ahead as he walked out into the hallway. It took all of Dorian's strength not to slam the door in his wake. Instead, he shut it forcefully, stalking over to his bed and sitting. He snatched up his pillow, burying his face in it, and then he screamed. He knew he had overreacted, gotten fired up when all his friend had wanted to do was express his concern. But, at the same time, he had said horrible things about Cullen, presumed to know too much, thought too little of Dorian's judgement.   
Even as Dorian pulled the pillow away from his face, black smudges staining the velveteen, he didn't know what to do. All he knew was that he was sad, royally pissed off, and that he had just majorly fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protect Me From What I Want- Placebo


	13. Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter arrives! Far later than I anticipated... but anyway. I tried to write in some fluff, seeing how there hasn't really been much so far. I just want to apologise in advance- it is a fluff chapter yet there still manages to be angst so... sorry about that. But please! Enjoy! I am so thankful to all of you still sticking with me and I love hearing feedback!

Dorian lay on the couch, phone to his ear, playing with his buttons as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the receiver.  
“… and father has been insufferable. I know he just wants me to get better, but there is a point when I don't really need _another_ pillow.”  
Dorian chuckled as Felix heaved an exasperated sigh, “so you're enjoying your stay, I gather?”  
“Oh harr harr” Felix responded dryly, and Dorian could hear him shuffling around on the other end, followed by a gasp.  
“Felix?” Dorian's voice immediately went high with worry, “are you alright?”  
“I'm fine” he could almost hear Felix rolling his eyes, “I just pulled my stitches a little.”  
“Stitches.. I...” Dorian stopped himself, taking a deep breath as he sat up on the couch, “how are you? Medically speaking that is.”  
“Well...” Felix paused, and though all Dorian could hear was silence, he imagined his friend was steeling himself just a little, “the doctor has said that my condition is degrading.”  
“Degrading… Felix, I-”  
“I'm fine” Felix repeated, cutting Dorian off, “like everything, I'm going to get worse before I get better. This isn't the first time this has sent me to hospital, remember? I'm sure I have at least another year or two in me.”  
“Happy days” Dorian said glumly, feeling his eyes growing wet.  
“Hush you” Felix reprimanded, “and besides, it isn't all bad news. I'm beginning to feel less dizzy when I stand,” Dorian could hear the tentative hope in his voice, “I was able to take a walk with Livia the other day, for the first time in months.”  
Dorian huffed a quiet laugh, “that's so good to hear.”  
Felix hummed in agreement, “I'm going to be ok, Dorian. Trust me.”  
“I do.”  
“Speaking of 'I do'...” Dorian could hear the amusement that suddenly coloured Felix's tone, and his heart dropped a little for it, “how are you and tall, pale, and Ferelden?”  
Dorian huffed a laugh, “we're going fine. He's actually taking me out somewhere today.”  
“Oooh, someplace romantic I'd imagine”.  
Dorian hummed thoughtfully, “I hope so. Maker knows where we're going.”  
“Surprise locations? Multiple dates? This is starting to sound serious.”  
“Felix” Dorian groaned.  
“What?” Felix laughed, “are you telling me that you've been seeing this guy for months, and you still aren't serious?”  
“No” Dorian snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose, “because, whatever I feel for him I highly doubt that he reciprocates.”  
A sigh came through the receiver, and Dorian hung his head, “I'm sorry Felix. I just… I don't know how to feel about this.”  
“Just ask him” Felix offered gently.  
“No” Dorian said again, far softer, “I don't know if I could handle the rejection. Or him laughing at me.”  
“He wouldn't, would he?”  
“He wouldn't” Dorian amended, “however, I would rather not have another Rilienus situation. I'd hate to be the laughing stock of Tevinter _and_ Ferelden.”  
“No one knows who you are in Ferelden” Felix joked, though it was forced.  
Dorian allowed himself a chuckle, “that's true. Just Tevinter, then.”  
The conversation lulled into silence. Dorian fiddled with his rings, spinning them on his fingers. A nervous habit, and one that allowed him to stay focused outside of his own emotions.  
“Dorian?” Felix asked quietly.  
“Hmm?”  
“Please, if this guy knows you half as well as I do, then he'll have fallen head over heels for you already. Don't let Rilienius keep screwing things up for you.”  
“Sounds like you may be the one in love with me” Dorian quipped half-heartedly. He could almost hear Felix's eye roll.  
“Fine, be evasive” his friend groused, “just remember my track record of being right about things.”  
Dorian smiled despite himself, “will do. Now, I should probably go. Cullen is due here soon. Get better now, you hear me? Or else I shall march to Tevinter myself and order the Archon to-”  
“I'll be fine!” Felix cut in with a laugh, “now, off you go. Have a gay old escapade and when you tell me about it later, _please_ spare the gory details.”  
“ _Don't_ spare the details? My, Felix, you truly are after my heart.”  
“Oh harr harr, you arsehole.”  
Dorian grinned, but when he spoke, his voice was sombre, “I love you.”  
Felix's tone was far less jubilant than before, “I love you too.”  
“Talk soon.”  
“As soon as possible. Goodbye.”  
The smile left Dorian's face as the hang up tone took over Felix's end. He hung up the receiver, letting himself collapse down onto the couch. Despite his friend's assurances, Dorian couldn't help but fear the worst; he knew Felix was dying. And even more short term were his worries about this… whatever with Cullen. What if he told Cullen how he felt and he was laughed at? What if he _didn't_ tell Cullen and instead the man walked away completely?  
“Selfish” Dorian hissed at himself, disgusted that the issue of some fling was taking precedence over Felix's rapidly shortening mortal coil, “selfish. Foolish. Stupid. Pathe-”.  
There was a knocking at the door, and Dorian was ripped from his train of thought. He jumped up, smoothing his turtleneck down before walking over to the door. He gave his hair and face a last check in the little mirror on the wall before he opened the door.  
Seeing Cullen still did things to Dorian. That flushed, freckly face. Those golden ringlets. The honey brown eyes. Despite the months they'd spent together, the sight of Cullen still sent a little shiver through Dorian. He wanted desperately to throw himself into the other man's arms. Hold him close. Squeeze him tight. Maybe even shed a few tears for his friend. _But, to be close is to be vulnerable,_ the little voice in Dorian's head warned, so instead, the mage settled for a gentle kiss.  
“Hello” he breathed softly against Cullen's lips.  
Cullen pulled him back in, and Dorian glowed for the way that the blond held him to his chest. The hug was sweet, and the returning kiss was sweeter.   
“Hello to you too” Cullen replied quietly, “shall we get going?”  
Dorian nodded, reaching back to pull on his coat, “where to?”  
“You'll see.”

 

***  


  
This was more than Dorian had ever dared dream about. Walking side by side with Cullen, their linked hands swinging back and forth as they walked along the Denerim coastline, watching the sun sink lower over the slow moving ocean. Just, spending time. Enjoying each other's company.   
_Perhaps Felix was right_ , the errant thought pushed its way into Dorian's mind. Feeling Cullen's calloused palm in his, enjoying the gentle knocking of Cullen's shoulder into his, all he could do was smile to himself, _I hope he is._  
“Here.”  
Cullen's soft voice pulled Dorian from his reverie. He looked up, gasping a little at the sight before him. Cullen had led them to a small cliff, only just clearing the spray of the breakwater. Cullen pulled Dorian forward, and the mage let himself be led, trailing behind the Ferelden as he they neared the edge.  
“It's beautiful, Cullen” Dorian breathed, mesmerised by the slow push and pull of the ocean, seemingly disappearing beneath his feet.  
Cullen turned back, beaming, and Dorian was stunned momentarily. Cullen was bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, and the light set his hair ablaze, curls shining gold and orange. He set down the takeaway bag, moving forwards, and Dorian melted into the arms that wrapped around his waist.

“This is perfect” Cullen whispered, nosing at Dorian's throat, “you're perfect.”  
“So I've been told” Dorian quipped automatically, but even as he felt Cullen's silent chuckle, he softened. “And as are you” he amended quietly.  
Cullen hummed, pulling back. Dorian felt little goosebumps raise on his skin as the blond trailed his fingers down the soft skin of his inner arms, leaning forwards, letting his hands curl around Cullen's. The ex-Templar breathed a small laugh, and Dorian let himself be pulled down as Cullen sat on the ground. He snuggled into the other man's side, shivering a little against the cool ocean wind.  
“So, what shall we eat first?” he asked, peering into the plastic bag in front of them.  
“And here I was about to ask you the same thing” Cullen chuckled, beginning to set out the containers of takeaway food, “you are an expert on Tevene cuisine, after all.”  
“True. In Tevinter I am known as the _Imperatore della cucina_ ” he bowed with a flourish. When he straightened, he was met with Cullen's slightly bemused expression.  
“Emperor of Cuisine” he translated dryly, “it sounds better in Tevene.”  
Cullen chuckled, “well, empire della cooking, if that is your real name” he gave Dorian a goofy grin over his shoulder, and the mage couldn't help but giggle a little, “what is what?”  
Dorian reached into the plastic bags, pulling out the containers of hot takeaway.   
“Alright” he opened the first container, examining the contents, “this is... orecchiette.”  
Cullen looked at him blankly, “and that is…?”  
Dorian smiled, spearing a few pieces of pasta on a fork and holding it out to Cullen, “try it.”  
Cullen squinted his eyes as he ate the offered food, and Dorian smirked for how cute it was.   
“Wow” the blond said, eyes widening, “that's really good.”  
Dorian nodded, eating some himself, before opening up the other containers. He handed Cullen a little paper plate and a fork and the pair dug in.  
“So” Cullen said, after a stretch of silence as they ate, “how has work been?”  
Dorian arched an eyebrow, “really?” he teased, “you bring me all this way for small talk?”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “no. Not small talk. I just… I'm genuinely interested.”  
Dorian was a little taken aback. Beyond Felix and the cursory 'how was your day?' from Bull and Sera, no one really asked. And all but Felix didn't actually care. Dorian chuckled to himself as he tried to imagine having a conversation about work with his last dalliance; though he couldn't imagine the vapid Orlesian would have had much to say, considering his limited knowledge of the King's Tongue. Dorian shook himself out of his head, smiling up at Cullen, “well, thank you. Work has been fine. Fairly uneventful, to be truthful. I mean, there's only so much that can happen in a book store” he paused, suddenly remembering something, “actually, something did happen the other day.”  
Cullen grinned, looking pleased that Dorian had taken up with the subject. He leaned in, “go on.”  
Dorian smirked, shuffling about to be kneeling, “well. The store I work in is rather large, and the counter that I'm at is towards the back of the store, so I can't necessarily see all the sections when I'm not looking at the security monitors. Anyway, it was a quiet shift, and I may or may not have been on my phone-” he poked his tongue out at Cullen's mockingly scandalised look, “and I thought I was the only one in the store. And then I hear this noise. This… thudding. I thought it was nothing at first, but it was… rhythmic. So I get up to investigate and there, in one of the little alcoves, knocking books all over the floor, are these bloody teenagers, almost knocking the shelves over with their cavorting.”  
Cullen's scandalised look was now completely genuine, “they were screwing in a bookshop?”  
“Indeed” Dorian said solemnly, “and the worst thing is that they were in the erotica section” he shuddered theatrically, “and Ferelden Shades of Grey was open on the floor.”  
Cullen burst out laughing, “oh no, that book was terrible.”  
Dorian's eyes flew wide open. He turned to stare at Cullen, “ _you_ read it?”  
Cullen's laughing instantly cut off, his face turning bright red, “uh… well” he coughed awkwardly, “maybe.”  
Now it was Dorian's turn to howl with laughter.  
“Hey” Cullen said, scowling half heartedly, “it was going around the barrack. I couldn't _not_ read it.”  
Dorian was still giggling a little, but he waved off Cullen, “it's fine. I've read it too; I just can't picture someone like you reading it.” He sighed, leaning back on his arms, “there's a lot I could have never pictured you doing.”  
“Oh? Such as?”  
Dorian stayed silent, contemplating how he should respond. “Well” he started slowly, not looking at Cullen, “Such as this. Just. Spending time. With me.” He glanced over at Cullen, his heart jumping a little at the furrow in the blond's brow.  
“I'm confused” Cullen said quietly, “is this not what you want?”  
“No!” Dorian cried, turning to face Cullen fully, “no. It's just not what I expected, at first. This isn't how I've ever dated. It's different.”  
He could see the cogs turning in Cullen's head, and wished desperately to know what the man was thinking.   
“Different how?” the Ferelden asked finally.  
Dorian thought on it for just a moment, “good different. Marvellously different.”  
Cullen suddenly beamed, his cheeks flushing a little, but the smile turned sly so quickly that Dorian barely had a chance to register it.  
“Well” Cullen said, still smiling, “I think that calls for a toast.”  
He reached behind him, rummaging around. And then, he turned back, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand.  
“What?” Dorian spluttered, “where did you-”  
Cullen just tapped the side of his nose before popping the wine bottle cork, filling the glasses with rich red liquid. He handed Dorian his glass and held his own up, so Dorian copied.  
“To being different” Cullen said triumphantly.  
Dorian grinned, gently clinking his glass to Cullen's, “marvellously different.” He brought his arm down, only managing to take a small sip of his wine before Cullen dissolved into giggles.  
“What?” he asked, beginning to giggle a little himself.  
“To being different” Cullen snickered, “I feel like an edgy fourteen year old.”  
Dorian smirked, taking a deep draught from his glass, “well, I suppose if the shoe fits...”  
“Hey!” Cullen laughed, brow furrowed in mock anger. And suddenly Dorian felt arms around his waist and he was lying on Cullen's lap. He squeaked a little in surprise, blood rushing to his cheeks at the sound.  
“That was” Cullen started, smug smile plastered on his face, “adorable.”  
“Hush” Dorian hissed, trying and failing to take a dignified sip while horizontal, “I am not adorable. I am-”  
“Adorable.”  
Dorian glared up at Cullen, trying to make his eyes blaze, but his motivation melted away as Cullen just continued to grin down at him.  
“Fine” he growled, “I'm adorable.”  
Cullen's smile widened, and he leaned down and kissed Dorian's forehead. Dorian felt the brush of lips against his skin, and it burned where the contact had been. He thanked the Maker that he'd been blessed with dark skin. And he thanked the Maker again for the man on whom he was currently lying. He smiled, setting his glass on the ground and rolling so that he could press his face into Cullen's belly.   
“Cullen, I-” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, but he managed to catch the confession before it could drown him. He wasn't ready to tell him. No matter what Felix said, how much he assured him, Dorian wasn't ready to have Cullen turn into Rilienus mark 2. “I'm really glad I came today” he finished lamely, wincing a little for how bland it sounded. But Cullen didn't seem to mind, judging by how his arms tightened around the mage, and how Dorian once again felt the brush of a kiss against his hair.  
“I'm so glad you did, too” came Cullen's soft reply.   


***  


An hour or two later and the sun had truly set. The wine bottle was empty, discarded with the takeaway containers, and Dorian lay with his head on Cullen's chest, looking up at the stars.  
“I used to know all the constellations” he mused quietly, “my mother drilled them into me when I was younger. Told me they were essential to my...” _magical studies_ he finished in his head, a stab of guilt in his gut. Dorian sighed, Cullen had bared all to him, laid out every flaw and fuck up, and Dorian had yet to tell him what he was, “… uh. General knowledge. Cullen?”  
“Mm?”  
Dorian sat up, holding his knees to his chest. He had to do this. _Had to._ He couldn't keep Cullen in the dark forever, and he decided that he'd much rather the man find out from him.  
“I have something to confess” he said heavily.   
Now Cullen sat up, shuffling so that he was seated in front of Dorian, “what's on your mind?”  
Dorian groaned. He would have much rathered to have done this while he couldn't see Cullen's face. Just a quick sentence then he could lay back down and move on. Wishful thinking, certainly, but far better than the possibility of Cullen up and leaving. Or worse, getting the Templars. He shook his head. No, he had to do this. There was no more 'tomorrow's or 'another time's, he had to do this now.  
“Cullen, I'm a mage.” There, said, done. Now he could swallow Cullen's face of barely contained fear and/or rage, accept whatever lame excuse the man had for leaving, and accept that he would never hear from him again. He braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut. But the sound that met his ears was nothing he was expecting. He opened his eyes tentatively, and Cullen was chuckling, shaking his head just a little.  
“I suspected as much” Cullen said finally, still smiling, “I can sense magic, you know. One of the reasons that Templars take lyrium.”  
Dorian's jaw dropped, “you _knew?”_ he asked, incredulous, “then why on earth did you never say anything?”  
“To be honest” Cullen sighed, “I initially thought that I was being paranoid. Then, when I was actually being paranoid, I looked up what an altus was. And I guess, I decided I didn't care, and just wanted you to tell me on your own.”  
Dorian barked a nervous laugh, remembering their first conversation, and cursing his past (and drunken) self for being so careless. He regained his wits a little, “so, I suppose you're mad at me, hm?”  
“What? No. I wish you'd told me sooner but” Cullen ran a hand through his hair, “I'm not mad at you, in the slightest. I mean, it's not as if I can hold anything against you, considering how you found out about my addiction.”  
Dorian nodded, swallowing hard as he fought to form his next question, “you're not… afraid of me, then?”  
Cullen smiled sadly, reaching out, and Dorian gently nuzzled his outreached hand.  
“No” the blond said quietly, stroking Dorian's hand, “I'm not afraid of you. There was a point where I probably would have flipped out. Done something stupid. But, even when I found out, honestly, I was more annoyed that you hadn't told me outright.” Cullen sighed, and the sound was so heavy it made Dorian's heart hurt a little, “I've told you before, but I'll say it again. I'm not that person anymore. You never have to be scared of me.”  
“Cullen, I could never be scared of you” Dorian replied earnestly.  
Cullen's smile turned up just a little more, “thank you.”  
Dorian smiled in return, leaning down to rest his head in the crook of Cullen's shoulder. He closed his eyes as the man began to run his fingers up and down his forearm, his fingertips tickling his skin pleasantly. This had gone so well, better than he had expected. Cullen knew about him, and was fine. Better than fine. And he was still here. It was more than Dorian could have hoped for. He filtered through the various musings in his head as he continued to sit in Cullen in amicable silence, enjoying the tickle of fingers along his skin. Until it stopped. Dorian's mouth quirked a little in disappointment.  
“You don't have a brand.”  
_Brand?_ Dorian thought, _what does he mean by a- Fuck._ He stilled, panicked.  
“You're an apostate?”  
Dorian wrenched his head from Cullen's shoulder, jumping to his feet. He held his hands out in front of him, showing outwardly that he meant to harm, but all the while he began to reach for his mana.  
“I'm sorry, Cullen” he said, his voice high with strain, “I should have told you.”  
Cullen nodded, still seated. His eyes were wide, his expression blank. Dorian grimaced, physically, yet not mentally prepared for the fight that was about to ensue. He would have to leave, he knew that. He would call Felix, pack up, and by this time tomorrow he would be somewhere safe in Rivain. Or Antiva. Or even the Anderfels. Who knew, maybe they were nice this time of year. Still, he couldn't give up yet.  
“Please” he begged, trying to contain the pain that was already beginning to rip into his chest, “please, just let me go. Don't turn me in.”  
“What?” that seemed to snap Cullen from his stupor. He stood, and before Dorian knew what was happening, he was swept up into Cullen's arms, being crushed against his hard chest, “I would never turn you in, Dorian.”  
Relief swept over Dorian and he let go of the mana he was holding, relaxing into Cullen's embrace.   
“I can't register” he explained quietly, “if I do, my father will be able to find me.”  
Cullen nodded, “okay, just. What if you get caught?”  
Dorian leaned back, looking directly up into Cullen's warm eyes, full of worry. He smiled, raising a hand, pinkie extended, “I promise I will not get caught.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, reluctantly entwining his pinkie with Dorian's, “trust you to make it a joke.”  
Dorian smirked up at him, “unfortunately- or fortunately, in your case- it's one of the many unavoidable features of dating me.”  
Cullen leaned down, capturing Dorian's lips in a kiss, “I like it.”  
Dorian kissed back, smiling, “good.”  
Cullen broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Dorian, and Dorian found himself liking it. The intimacy of it, if he was being honest. He groaned internally; Felix was right, he had it bad.  
“Actually” Cullen started, voice low, “I feel just a little better that you're not known to the Templars. Southern Templars especially, they can be quite brutal. Knowing that you're not trapped in that system is good. And I'll always protect you.”  
Dorian pulled back, “actually, seeing as how _I_ am the one with the magical abilities, I am sure that it is I who will be protecting you.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
Dorian grinned smugly, “definitely.”  
Cullen's smile turned wicked, and suddenly Dorian was up in the air, thrown over Cullen's shoulder.  
“What was that?” Cullen called back.  
Dorian was draped indignantly down Cullen's back, coat up over his head, pants beginning to slide off a little as Cullen's grip tightened. “I surrender!” he cried, as he scrabbled to right himself, “you're stronger! You mighty man! You shall be my protector!”  
Cullen laughed, and Dorian's world rushed past as he was set down on the ground, only to be pulled back to Cullen's chest, lips crushed in a kiss.   
“You” he panted, when they finally broke apart to breathe, “are a brute.”  
Cullen laughed again, and this time Dorian was the one who stole a kiss.   
“You know” he whispered, lips brushing Cullen's as he talked, “I expected you to react far worse.”  
“I expected that of myself, too” Cullen admitted, “but, I don't know. You make me feel like a better man.”  
Dorian felt a rush of warmth, a glowing in his chest. He smiled, but shook his head, “you shouldn't feel like a better man, Cullen. You're the best there is.”  
Before Cullen could respond, Dorian looped his arms around the taller man's shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Here- Harley Poe


	14. Come Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is having withdrawls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff coming your way! This one is kind of hurt/comfort, though I'm not totally sure as I've never actually written something like that before.
> 
> Sorry about the long gap between chapters, I've just had my HSC exams so I was a little swamped with study.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and thank you all for sticking with me so far! I love hearing back from you all!

Cullen groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. His head had been pounding for the past few days, fierce and sharp, refusing to be suppressed by anything less than lyrium. Lyrium which he had sworn to never even look at again. So instead, Cullen suffered; moping around his house and only surviving work by taking an almost unhealthy dose of elfroot tablets. The twisted voice at the back of his head joked that before long he'd be addicted to them instead.  
Cullen lay on his ratty couch, sore and irritable after his early morning shift. His arms felt like they were going to fall off; Lillith had just received a shipment of soil and cement pots. Cullen commended her decision to venture from floristry into a full-blown gardening store, but that didn't mean he enjoyed lugging fifty bags of soil from the back of a truck into the back of the store.  
He took a long drag from his cigarette, trying to avoid dropping ash into the coffee he had precariously balanced on his chest. He closed his eyes as the movie on his laptop played on, some cheaply made slasher flick with more boobs than blood. This had quickly become his after work routine, so much so that he'd exhausted the horror movies that the small Amaranthine video store had and instead streamed them on his agonisingly slow internet.  
He had just began to doze when a knock at the door startled Cullen back into consciousness. He jerked up, and his mug moved with him, spilling lukewarm coffee all over his lap. Cullen groaned, yanking the cup up and slamming it down on his coffee table angrily. He stood in a huff, taking a last long draw from his cigarette before stubbing it in his mug. The person at the door knocked again.  
“I'm coming!” Cullen called. He grumbled as he walked over to his front door, trying to figure out the most polite way to tell whatever salesperson or Andraste's Witness to fuck off so he could get back to his nap.  
Except, the man who leant against his door frame was devastatingly handsome and not trying to sell or preach anything at all. For all the times that Cullen saw Dorian, he could never quite get over how gorgeous he was. Even dressed for work, as Cullen assumed the man was, he was impeccable. Cullen decided that, while most would make a black turtleneck and skinny jeans look pretentious, Dorian gave it an air of elegance.  
“You know” Dorian grinned, stepping forwards, “it's customary to say hello.”  
Cullen blinked, “I… yes. Hello” he cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the fact that he himself was dressed in a threadbare singlet and coffee-stained pyjama pants. He fought down an embarrassed blush, “um, come in.”  
Dorian nodded, smiling up at Cullen as he brushed past him. Cullen's skin tingled where he felt Dorian touch him. Smiling to himself he closed his front door, following the Tevinter further into the house.  
He found Dorian standing in his lounge room, looking down at his couch. He quietly padded up next to him, resting his head on the shorter man's shoulder. Dorian hummed contentedly, though his gaze didn't shift from the flat cushions.  
“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly.  
Rather than answer, Dorian turned, pulling Cullen into a tight hug. The blond froze in surprise, but quickly recovered, collapsing into the hug gratefully. Warmth radiated through him, and it was only then that he realised how much he'd missed Dorian in the week since their adventure to the coast. He tightened his arms, burying his face in the crook of Dorian's throat. He even felt his headache subside a little; though that may have been nothing more than wishful thinking.  
“So” Cullen said, pulling back reluctantly, “what brings you here?”  
Dorian leaned forwards, and Cullen sighed happily as he felt mage's kisses along his throat. “Well,” Dorian murmured, “I was wondering if you'd like to come out with me tonight. Get some drinks, maybe dance a little” he smiled, “spend time with each other.”  
Cullen grimaced, his heart sinking. “I sorry” he replied glumly, “today is… not good. My withdrawals are especially bad today.” A sharp stab of pain behind his eyes confirmed his statement, “it's lame, I know” he groaned, “but-”  
A quick kiss silenced him. “Hush” Dorian said softly, “there's no need to explain, I understand.”  
Cullen opened his mouth to protest, or apologise further- he wasn't sure which one- but a stern look from Dorian quietened him.  
“Now” Dorian started, stepping back, “go shower, it'll help you feel at least a little more human.”  
Cullen nodded obediently. He leaned in, brushing a kiss along Dorian's smooth jaw, “won't you join me?”  
Dorian chuckled, deep and rich, and Cullen sighed as the Tevinter nuzzled his throat. “A tempting offer, but I don't think that's what you need right now.”  
Cullen pouted, but couldn't pretend that the lure of the shower wasn't strong. With a final quick kiss, he made his way to the bathroom.

***

Hair fluffy and clean, dressed in a new pair of pyjama pants, Cullen felt a little more put together. As he walked down his hallway, he was met with the smell of something good wafting from the kitchen. He poked his head through the door, smile rounding his cheeks at the sight of Dorian's back, sleeves of his shirt pushed up as his hands were busy in front of him. Cullen leaned against the wall, his eyes travelling down Dorian's form, “well, this is certainly a pleasant sight.”  
Dorian turned, grinning as he held out a mug to Cullen. Cullen looked down at the offered drink, which was heaped with whipped cream and smelled richly of chocolate. The Ferelden took the mug, breathing in deeply.  
“Where” he began, taking a sip, “did you find whipped cream?”  
Dorian giggled, “don't look now, but you've got a cream moustache.”  
Cullen grinned, posing and pouting his lips, “do I look as dashing as you?”. That earned him a snort from Dorian, who reached up, swiping his finger along the blond's upper lip. Cullen felt a twinge of something in his belly as he watched Dorian lick the cream off his finger.  
“Maybe if you bothered to style it” Dorian teased, rolling his eyes, “and to answer your question, I found your stash of sweets.”  
Cullen laughed self-consciously, feeling a blush heat his cheeks, “I may or may not have a sweet tooth.”  
“That's an understatement if I ever heard one.”  
Cullen poked his tongue out, taking another draught from his hot chocolate. Though his head still hurt and his bones still ached, something about the sweet drink and even sweeter company pushed the pain from the forefront of his mind. He huffed a quiet laugh; he was more like his old self than he had initially thought, if the saccharine nature of his thoughts was anything to go by.  
He set down his mug, reaching forwards and pulling Dorian up against him. The mage gasped, only just stopping his drink from spilling over. Cullen leaned down, kissing Dorian softly. The mage hummed against his lips, so Cullen kissed him harder, letting his hands clench in Dorian's shirt. He sighed, pressing himself up against the mage.  
“Now” Dorian said suddenly, pulling back, “go sit down. I'm going to see if I can scratch up something for you and I to eat.”  
Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but Dorian quickly spoke over him.  
“Ah ah ah, no” he grinned, the tips of his moustache curling up, “sit. You're sick.”  
The Ferelden groaned but, considering the resolute look on Dorian's face, he couldn't argue. Cullen crossed his arms petulantly, striding out of the kitchen and into the lounge room.  
“I'm not a child, you know!” he called.  
“Then stop pouting like one!” came Dorian's scathing reply.  
Cullen grinned, plopping himself down onto the couch, letting his head loll back. He could hear Dorian bustling around across the hall and he smiled to himself. That morning he had been trying to prepare himself for the day ahead, and just ten hours later he was sprawled on his couch while his… his boyfriend scrounged together what little food he had in an effort to make him feel better. All things considered, his life was good.  
He let himself drift, moving away from the pain that was beginning to regroup in the back of his skull. With Dorian there, so close, tangible, it was easy to imagine how easily they could be something more. Life with Dorian would be so good, so perfect. Waking up next to that face every morning, hearing that melodic laughter every day. Cullen could so easily picture them cooking together, going out on dates, Maker, even the thought of grocery shopping with Dorian sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Sharing cups of coffee, walking hand in hand, whispering “I love you.” That last one stopped Cullen short. He hadn't told Dorian that he loved him. He hadn't even acknowledged within himself that that was how he felt. _Was_ that how he felt? Did he love Dorian?  
Cullen jerked back awake as he felt the couch next to him sink. He blinked away the bleariness, not even having realised that he'd dozed off. He smiled blearily at Dorian, who leaned in, brushing a kiss to Cullen's stubbly cheek.  
“Here” he pushed a bowl of noodles into Cullen's hands, “that was all I could really find.”  
Cullen took the bowl, giving Dorian's hand a squeeze, “I suppose I should go food shopping sometime soon, huh?”  
Dorian hummed in agreement, his eyes on his own noodles, “that” he started, after swallowing his mouthful of noodles, “is an excellent idea. I'd rather not be eating microwave food every time I come over.”  
Cullen smirked, beginning to eat. The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional chinking of cutlery against plastic. Cullen ate as quickly as his mouth would allow, and as soon as he'd finished his food he set his plate down, snuggling into Dorian's side.  
“Every time you come over, hm?” he wrapped his arms around Dorian's torso, pressing his face into the mage's chest, “does that mean you're going to be swinging by again?”  
“Careful!” Dorian chided light-heartedly, lifting his bowl out of Cullen's path, “you're determined to make me spill something today, aren't you? And yes. That means I'll be coming back.”  
“Good.”  
Dorian sighed, putting his empty bowl down. Cullen felt the man tense beneath him and he lifted his head, eyebrows knitting together in concern.  
“How's your head?” Dorian asked lightly, his fingers beginning to stroke along Cullen's scalp.  
Cullen grimaced, “not great, but it never is on days like this. I'm learning to live with it.”  
“Well” Dorian said slowly, fingers stilling in Cullen's hair, “I was wondering if I could maybe help with that. With… well…” he flicked his hands limply.  
Cullen's eyes widened slowly with comprehension, “with magic?”  
Dorian nodded, eyes downward.  
Cullen took a deep breath. Though magic no longer terrified him the way it once had, was he comfortable enough to let it be used _on_ him? He looked at Dorian, who was now fiddling awkwardly with his rings. The man whom had confessed to being not only a mage, but an apostate, to him, knowing full well that he had been a Templar. The man who had cared for him through the worst of his withdrawals. Dorian, who was still here through it all.  
“I'd be willing to let you try” he said finally, “I trust you.”  
The mage's head shot up in surprise, “really?”  
Cullen sighed, nodding his head in assent. Dorian gestured for him to move forwards, shuffling in behind him. Cullen slid off the couch and he leaned back as Dorian straddled his shoulders, resting his head against the Tevinter's thighs.  
“Close your eyes” Dorian murmured, and Cullen could feel the slightest tingle of magic, “now, this is going to feel strange.”  
Cullen gasped as he felt Dorian's fingers against his temples. They were cold, and Cullen could feel cool tendrils of air licking over his skin. He moaned, closing his eyes, relaxing until he felt almost boneless. Before long his headache had faded away, nothing more than a faint ache behind his eyes. He sat up, turning so he could rest his face on Dorian's lap.  
“Thank you” he sighed, trailing his fingers over Dorian's muscular thigh. He smiled as he felt a brush of lips against his hair.  
“Any time.”

***

Cullen lay on his couch, face turned to the crime docu-series playing on his laptop, Dorian curled up on top of him. He played absent-mindedly with Dorian's dark hair, now beginning to revert back to its natural wavy state. The episode that they were watching- the third one in a row- ended and another began. The intro played, and when Cullen saw the subject matter for the next episode, he blanched. The Kinloch Massacre. Dorian immediately sensed Cullen's discomfort, and before he could even react, the Tevinter had reached out and turned off the show. Cullen's hand balled into a fist, annoyance at himself growing; to be upset over just a show was pathetic. He sighed.  
“Are you alright?” Dorian asked quietly.  
“I'm fine” Cullen assured him, letting his hand relax, “I'm just being stupid.”  
Dorian scowled, “it isn't stupid” he grumbled, “and I wish you wouldn't think things like that about yourself.”  
Cullen shifted, sitting up, “that doesn't mean I don't feel pathetic.” He hung his head. He didn't want to talk about this. “I knew the Hero of Ferelden, you know” he said suddenly, changing the topic, “the one who stopped it.”  
“Oh?”  
Cullen sighed, thankful that Dorian didn't object to the subject shift, “Mm. An elf, Tabris. She was the one that saved me. I'd been held captive for days, maybe a week or two, and I thought I was dead. And I was ready to be.”  
He took a shuddering breath, “and then she was there. She emerged out of the rubble, bloodied and bruised, with a face of pure innocence. She was valiant. She killed Uriel, her and her band of vigilantes; no small feat either. Apparently he was an abomination. One of Pride, no less.”  
Dorian's eyes widened, “a Pride demon?”  
Cullen nodded, trying to block the memory that was fighting to resurface, “yeah. It's how he managed to get loose in the first place” he shook his head, “anyway, I should have arrested Tabris. Technically she and her friends were criminals, but how could I? They were the only reason that so many were able to survive Kinloch. Without her, I wouldn't be here.” Cullen laughed as he remembered something, “she was so beautiful. I had such a crush on her. I used to write her letters from Kirkwall, during my first year there. I could have emailed her, but my young romantic self believed that letters were purer. That she would feel the emotion behind them” he chuckled, “eventually I lost hope, however. I found out that she was marrying another elf, Zevran or something. I was devastated.”  
Cullen fell silent, having finished his story. He looked over at Dorian, and was surprised to see the man staring off into the middle distance, arms crossed.  
“What's wrong?” he asked quietly, nudging the mage with his elbow.  
“Nothing” Dorian retorted, turning away.  
Cullen stilled, thinking back over what he'd said. He'd talked about Kinloch, but he'd explained it in length before, and that had never bothered Dorian. The only other thing was… Tabris. Realisation dawned on Cullen. His mouth stretched into a shit-eating grin.  
“Are you” he started, snaking his way around Dorian, “jealous?”  
“What?” Dorian spluttered, “no. I'm not jealous.”  
“I think you are.”  
Dorian scowled, “I'm not jealous. What is there to be jealous about, hm? The idolization of an apparently divinely beautiful elf by a Chantry boy with a crush? No, I don't get jealous.”  
“You're jealous” Cullen teased in sing-song, reaching forwards and tickling Dorian's sides. Dorian giggled, writhing under Cullen's touch.  
“No!” he cried, slapping Cullen's hands away, “none of that nonsense.”  
The Ferelden launched forwards, pinning Dorian down to the couch. He straddled the mage's lap, tickling him relentlessly. Dorian bucked and squirmed, laughing and slapping as he tried desperately to avoid Cullen's hands.  
“Alright!” he shouted, panting, “I admit it! I was jealous!”  
Cullen chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin, “I knew it.”  
Dorian huffed indignantly, fixing his hair, “yes, congratulations you beastly man. You tortured a confession out of me.”  
The blond leaned forwards, kissing the shorter man softly.  
“You saved me too, you know” he murmured, “in your own way.”  
If Cullen didn't know better, he would have said that the darkening of Dorian's cheeks was the mage blushing.  
“You are ridiculous” Dorian teased gently.  
Cullen grinned, “I know.”  
He leaned down again, pressing another soft kiss to Dorian's lips. He sighed as he felt Dorian's hands snaking up his back, fingertips gently dancing over his skin. He let his lips travel, brushing kisses along the mage's defined jaw and down his throat. He slid his fingers under Dorian's shirt and paused in silent question. The other man moaned quietly, and Cullen took it for assent, lifting the turtleneck up. He continued his journey down Dorian's sculpted body, trailing his tongue along the smooth planes of the man's hip bones. Dorian's breath hitched, his hips bucking up slightly. Cullen chuckled, continuing to kiss along the mage's stomach as his fingers worked to free the man of his pants.  
“Someone's eager” Dorian breathed.  
Cullen chuckled, leaning up so he could gently nip Dorian's bottom lip, “Indeed I am. I missed you.”  
Dorian returned the kiss, twisting his fingers in Cullen's hair, “and I, you.”  
Cullen sat up, reaching back to pull his singlet up and off. He threw it across the room, lowering himself back down onto Dorian, resting along him. He began to grind himself gently against the mage, gasping softly. Dorian groaned, the sound stirring something in the pit of Cullen's stomach. He smiled, leaning down and kissing the mage, his rutting becoming more urgent.  
“Lets” Cullen said breathlessly, gesturing to his and Dorian's pants, “get these off.”  
Dorian nodded eagerly and Cullen beamed. The pair quickly stripped and then returned to each other, kissing with fervour as they lost themselves.

***

The pair lay panting, sprawled out on the couch in a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs. Cullen ran his fingers up and down Dorian's back, trying to get his breathing back to a normal pace. He looked up at Dorian who had his eyes closed, seemingly bathing in the afterglow. Cullen could only marvel at the way the lamplight glinted off his bronze skin. His hair was dishevelled, sweaty and stuck to his forehead in inky black tendrils. His lips were reddened and just a little swollen. His cheeks were flushed. And he was the most beautiful being that Cullen had ever and would ever lay eyes on. And here Dorian was, forever patient, understanding, forgiving. Smart. Funny. Kind. Cullen breathed a laugh, he'd answered his own question.  
“Hey” he whispered, gently turning the mage's chin up to face him, “with you stay with me tonight?”  
Dorian smiled, blinking sleepily, “of course.”  
Cullen let his head fall back against the arm rest, sighing happily. There was no doubt; he loved Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Undone- Placebo


	15. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian go to a bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it's been so long since I've updated. I would start firing off excuses but really, this chapter was just really annoying to write. I'm kind of considering abandoning this fic, but I might give it a few more chapters before I really make a decision.
> 
> So this is another foray into angst, so, sorry not sorry. Just TW: minor (very minor!) self harm
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! And I'm so thankful for all of you that still read my ramblings. I love you all!!!

Cullen shoved another cement flowerpot up onto the shelf, leaning against it, panting heavily. He risked a glance up at the clock and sighed with relief; his break had started. He pushed himself up, feeling boneless with exhaustion, making his way to the main store. Lillith sat at the counter, engrossed in a book. Cullen laughed to himself at the sight of the elf, shoulders hunched, bare feet on the counter, only her messy red bun visible over the top of the book.  
Cullen poked her gently on the shoulder, startling her. She looked up at him, green eyes wide.  
“Interesting read?”  
She poked her tongue out at him, “it was” she sniffed, closing her book with a huff, “until you scared me half to death.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “my apologies, shall I fetch a necromancer to revive your other half?”  
Lillith shot him a withering look, “that was weak, even for you.”  
“Like you could do any better” he snorted.  
“Why are you out here annoying me instead of working?”  
Cullen leaned down against the counter, flashing Lillith his best charming smile, “I was just on my break and wanted to see how my favourite boss is coping with this busy Friday.”  
Lillith narrowed her eyes, the tips of her long ears twitching, “what do you want?”  
“Nothing” Cullen insisted, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes.  
The elf groaned, but Cullen could see the smile she was trying to conceal, “what do you want?” she repeated.  
“Well...” the blond took a deep breath, “ IwaswonderingifIcouldhavenextFridayoff?”  
“Uhh…” Lillith blinked, confused.  
“Please?” Cullen batted his eyelashes.”  
The elf nodded, bemused, picking up her book and slowly turning her attention back to it. The bell tinkled at the front of the store, so Cullen, triumphant, slunk back into the storeroom, keen to avoid contact with customers. He sat down on a crate, reaching into his bag and pulling out his phone. He flipped it open, heart skipping when he saw that he had a message.   
  
_From: Dorian <3  
To: 0456726890  
  
would u like 2 come 4 drinks later? Bull, Sera and Tamaan r coming 2. join me after my shift?  
  
1:32PM  
  
_Cullen mashed the button, hastily typing his reply.  
  
_From: 0456726890  
To: Dorian  <3  
  
I would love to come. Where do you work? And what time?  
  
2:15PM  
  
_He set his phone down next to him, leaning back against the wall. He reached into his bag, pulling out the sandwich he had packed for himself; he had barely unwrapped it when he heard his phone chime. He snickered a little at the tinkling tone he'd set for Dorian.  
  
_From: Dorian <3_  
To: 0456726890  
  
tethras books. C u at 5:30 xx  
  
2:16PM  
  
Cullen could barely contain his excitement. He had seen Dorian just two days prior, but he still couldn't wait to see him. He'd expected that, with time, the rush of anticipation would fade when he thought of seeing the mage, but three months on, and he still felt the twist of butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it really was love.   
The Ferelden laughed at himself, at the silliness that coloured his thoughts. He was like a teenager all over again, goofy and lovesick. Though, he reminded himself, it was nice. It'd been a long time since he'd felt so strongly about someone, besides, there were worse things to worry about than being happy.

 

***  


  
The bus trundled to a stop just as the sun dipped below the Denerim skyline. Cullen pulled his coat tighter around himself, nuzzling his face into the fur lined hood as he stepped down onto the foot path. Though Bloomingtide was approaching the air still carried a chill, as it always did in Ferelden. Cullen chuckled to himself as he imagined what curses Dorian would spout. The blond didn't know how long Dorian had lived in the country, but he would have thought the mage would have acclimatised, yet, he still whined at every chance he got. Though he would never admit it to the man himself, Cullen found Dorian's pouting just the tiniest bit cute.   
The book shop stood out brightly in the square, one of the few shops still open in the quiet square. Cullen made his way over to a bench, sitting down where he could just see the door to _Tethras Books_. He put his earphones in, closing his eyes as the gentle acoustic song began, drowning out the babble of the few people still milling around the square. In the bottom of his stomach, ever present, was the dull ache of craving; twisting and stabbing. But, the thought of Dorian so close made it easier to ignore. The glow of the shop windows behind his closed eyelids was a firm reminder that he wouldn't be alone for much longer.  
Cullen blinked groggily, waking from his doze at the sound of Dorian's voice approaching. He stretched, sitting forwards, turning his bleary eyes to the lit up shop front. Dorian's voice came again, louder and closer, so Cullen stood, grabbing his bag and beginning to walk over to the book shop. Another man's voice drifted out from in the store, and the door opened. As the first man exited the store, Cullen felt the colour drain from his face. The dwarf hadn't seen him, but Cullen wasn't about to let him have a chance. He ran, darting into an alley. He pressed himself up against the wall, shrouded in shadow. He could hear Varric approaching, his voice louder as he grew closer.   
“… off to see that pretty boy, huh Sparkler?”  
He heard Dorian laugh, “you know, I don't think I have ever actually sparkled.”  
“Avoiding the question?” the dwarf continued, persistent.  
Even from his hiding spot, Cullen heard Dorian's sigh, “yes, I am seeing him.”  
Cullen froze as Varric came to stand just outside the alley. He pushed himself tighter to the wall, praying that he was hidden enough.   
“Well” Varric began, a mere metre from Cullen, “be careful.”   
Cullen let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding when Varric walked on, his footsteps fading into the low hum of the city.  
The Ferelden pushed himself off the wall, stepping out into the reach of the street lamp. He could see Dorian, sitting in the same spot as he had outside the book store, waiting. He smiled, relief washing over him as he wandered towards the mage. The man hadn't noticed him, focused intently on his phone. Cullen leaned in, brushing a kiss to Dorian's cheek. He chuckled when the man jumped, yelping softly.  
“Did I scare you?”  
The scowl that Cullen received was answer enough, but Dorian was kind enough to give him verbal confirmation too, “kaffas, you great lummox. Some warning next time would be greatly appreciated.”  
Cullen grinned, pulling Dorian up and into a tight hug, “I'll keep that in mind.” He ducked his head, capturing Dorian's lips in a kiss. “I've been thinking about you all day” he murmured against the mage's mouth.  
Dorian hummed in contentment, and the sound sent warmth to the base of Cullen's stomach. He deepened the kiss, pulling the Tevinter closer to him, dipping the man ever so gently back as he pressed into him. Oh, how badly he wished they could just stay there, wrapped up in each other. As it was, he could already begin to feel Dorian shivering, a telltale sign that complaining would start soon after. Cullen pulled back, holding his arm out to the mage. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing forwards. The smile he received in response was small and sweet as Dorian wound his arm through the Ferelden's own, bejewlled hand settling firmly upon his wrist.   
“We shall”.

  


***  


  
_Griffon Wing Keep_ was subdued and folksy, nothing like the pulsing lights of the club where Cullen had first met Dorian. As Cullen pushed his way through the front door, he was immediately enraptured by the atmosphere; it was warm, comfortable. The place was lively, most of the booths and tables occupied, a welcoming buzz in the air. Cullen smiled as Dorian took his hand, letting himself be led as the mage wove his way through the bar. They found the rest of the party tucked into the back corner, Sera and Cassandra squeezed in beside the Iron Bull and Tamaan, the small booths straining to contain the hulking Qunaris.  
“Cass” Cullen greeted happily, leaning in to kiss his friend on the cheek, “how are you?”  
“I am very well, and you?” she lowered her voice, “how are you faring recently?”  
Cullen laughed nervously, quickly glancing up at the rest of the table's occupants; Bull and Sera were defiantly not looking at him, while Tamaan was chatting stiltedly with Dorian. He sighed, “I'm fine, Cassandra” when she gave him a look as if to argue, he quickly cut her off, “I swear on my love for the Maker that I'll tell you if I even feel like _looking_ at it, ok?”.  
There was still a dour twist to Cassandra's mouth, but she conceded, making herself smile, “alright, my friend. I trust you.”  
“Thank you” Cullen breathed. He then straightened, turning his attention to Dorian, “I'm going to the bar, what would you like?”  
“Surprise me.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “very helpful, my dear.”  
The bar sat in the middle of the room, an island among the sea of tables and chairs. When the ex-Templar reached it, he let out a surprised laugh. The back wall of the bar was littered with photographs, newspaper clippings, certificates, all seemingly linked to each other, and apparently all concerning regulars of the _Keep_. The family feel was something that Cullen would have expected to find back in Honnleath, not buried in the flashy city of Denerim. For that, he felt just the tiniest rush of nostalgia.  
The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled Cullen from his thoughts. He turned to the person, blushing self-consciously when he realised that the barkeep was looking expectantly at him, and most likely had been for some time.  
“Sorry” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just admiring your… ah… collage.”  
The barkeep smiled kindly, “we're something of a family here. Such that we like to keep an eye on each other; for better or for worse” he turned towards the decorated wall, looking at it almost reverentially, before looking back to Cullen, “now, what would you like?”  
Cullen ordered his drinks, all the while chatting to the greying man, Duncan, as he eventually introduced himself. He finally forced himself to leave after some fifteen minutes or so, fancy cocktail for Dorian and his own pale ale in hand, though when he reached the table, he almost wished he could go back.   
The tension at the table was palpable. Cassandra and Tamaan were chatting awkwardly with each other, leaning around and over their respective partners, all the while Dorian, Bull, and Sera talked quietly, their conversation an angry buzz.   
“...didn't know I needed your permission to do things.”  
“That isn't what we're saying and you know it.”  
“He's alright, but-”  
“I thank you _so_ much for your glowing commen-”  
Cullen set down the drinks, cutting Dorian off. All eyes at the table turned to him, and Cullen felt himself flush, the tips of his ears burning. He quickly sat, sidling up to Dorian and taking a sip of his drink, gaze locked on the table top. He heard Dorian murmur quiet thanks as he too drank.   
The table lapsed into silence, awkward tension so thick that it could be cut with a knife. As the Ferelden took a deeper drought from his drink, he prayed silently for someone to break the silence. When no one did, save for Tamaan scratching her arm absently, Cullen decided it was up to him.  
“So” he began suddenly, causing Dorian to start beside him, “Bull, what do you… do?”  
He turned his eyes to the Qunari, who was looking him up and down with his one good eye.   
“I own a bar” Bull answered finally, leaning forwards so he could properly address Cullen, “ _Charger's._ Down in the Market District. Own it with my friend, Krem.”  
“Perhaps I'll go there, sometime” Cullen said lightly, smiling, “I'm sure Dorian would be up for adventure.” He gave the mage a gentle nudge, turning to him. Dorian looked up at him, returning the smile with a tight grimace. Cullen wasn't sure what he'd said.   
“What about you, Sera?” he continued, trying desperately to maintain at least some semblence of a conversation.  
The scruffy elf grinned, “I'm a waitress at _Red Jenny's_.”  
Cullen's eyes widened, “the… strip club?”  
Sera cackled, “plenty of ladies there to your fancy” she turned to Dorian, “not yours though, Fancy Pants.”  
Dorian huffed a laugh into his drink, rolling his eyes at the elf. Cullen smiled, relaxing. Perhaps the night wouldn't be a total disaster.   
“Actually” Sera leaned forwards, affecting a serious expression, “the club is actually where a whole bunch of little people meet to talk about kicking big people up the arse.”  
Cullen immediately retracted his previous thought. No, this night was going to be terrible. As Sera began to argue with Cassandra about whether or not the elf was in fact part of a vigilante group, Cullen gave Dorian a desperate look. The mage returned it, and together they downed their drinks.  


***  


A few hours and multiple drinks later, the tension at the table was all but forgotten. Cullen couldn't remember the last time he'd been drunk, but he could certainly remember that it had never been as _fun_ as it was just then. He mooned over the mage beside him, leaning heavily against him.  
“You're” he started, nuzzling against Dorian's throat, “th'most beautiful man I'ver seen.”  
Dorian giggled, and had Cullen not been so inebriated he would have teased the mage for the snort that was sneaking its way into the man's laughter. As it was, all he could think about was how adorable Dorian was when he smiled.  
“I am well aware” Dorian began, enunciating his words to the point of ridiculousness, “many have told me about my magnificence and…” he trailed off, blinking slowly.  
“Handsomenessss?” Cullen offered.  
Dorian nodded, head bobbing furiously.   
Cullen smiled widely, pulling Dorian close to him, pressing kisses along the mage's face and neck, causing the man to giggle and squirm. He began to press quick, playful kisses to the man's lips, each kiss getting slower and deeper. Cullen could feel pressure building in the base of his stomach, and he made to intensify the kiss, letting his tongue delve into Dorian's mouth. The move felt smooth, but to an objective outsider, the kiss was sloppy and wet.  
Cullen pulled back, breathing heavily, hair dishevelled from where Dorian's hands had anchored themselves.  
“W'should” he panted, eyes rolling a little as he tried to focus on his beau, “go outside.”  
He didn't have to tell Dorian twice. As soon as the slurred words left his lips, the mage was up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Cullen made to follow, his movements far more sluggish and considered, the effects of the alcohol felt throughout his entire body.   
“Going outside” Cullen stated, turning back to the table. He waited for a response, wobbling slightly where he stood, but received none. He lifted his eyes, smiling lopsidedly at the sight before him. Cassandra was cuddled up to Iron Bull, her eyes heavily lidded as she sipped delicately from her wine, focus entirely on whatever Bull was saying. From what Cullen could make out, it was poetry. He swayed, and Dorian caught him, though he didn't far too much better at staying upright. Giggling and leaning on each other, the pair tried to find their way to the street outside the bar.   
Along the way they found Sera and Tamaan. Sera was up on a little stage, microphone clutched tightly in her little hands as she sung loudly at Tamaan. The Qunari woman danced below, eyes closed and white hair whipping about her waist.  
Cullen cheered and Sera looked up, grinning fiercely. As she sung she began to make lewd gestures, along with kissy faces at the pair. Cullen laughed, and he could hear Dorian snort behind him. From the corner of his eye he could see the DJ, a gangly, sandy haired man with a t-shirt emblazoned with a picture of cheese, blushing as he watched Sera thrust into the air.  
He felt a tug on his arm and turned, seeing Dorian impatiently trying to pull him outside. He obliged happily, once again allowing himself to be tugged through the maze of tables.  
Once outside, Cullen immediately reached into his coat pocket, pawing through it for his box of cigarettes. He didn't know if it was because he wanted one, or simply force of habit, but either way he sit stuck the cigaerette between his teeth, digging around again for a lighter.  
“Ahem”.  
Cullen looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Dorian's cocky smile, lit by a dancing flame perched on the end of his finger. The jolt of fear that ran through Cullen was doused by his intoxication, and by the sight of Dorian's self-assured grin. The Ferelden leaned forwards, letting the small flame lick the end of his cigarette, lighting it. He took a deep pull, letting the smoke furl out through his nose, wisps escaping his lips. He could feel Dorian's eyes on him, his skin prickling under the mage's gaze. It was maddening.   
Cullen launched himself forwards without warning, pressing Dorian up against the wall of the bar. The mage let out a soft cry, the sound going straight to Cullen's groin. He pressed himself tight to the Tevinter's body, flicking his cigarette away as he brought his hands to Dorian's waist. Their lips crashed together, Cullen invading Dorian's mouth with his tongue. The mage sighed, melting into the Ferelden, and it only fueled the want that burned in Cullen's stomach. He pinned Dorian's wrists against the wall above his head, moving down to the mage's throat. He bit the soft skin there, dragging his tongue over the man's flesh, making him squirm and groan. He let his mouth trail along the mage's hard jaw, gently nipping, letting his hips begin to grind against Dorian's. Cullen could hear people coming and going around them, but all he could think about was the man pressed up tight against him, and the way Dorian was beginning to whimper with each thrust. He ground himself harder against the other man, capturing the man's lips once again with his own. They kissed passionately and sloppily, both men boneless against each other as they squirmed and gasped. They soon parted, though, panting, sliding down the wall as they giggled breathlessly.   
“That” Cullen huffed, “was fun.”  
He felt Dorian shaking beneath him and looked up, laughing to see the man nodding fervently.  
“I agree” Dorian stated, looking as if he was struggling to keep his eyes open, “and we shall continue. One I regain the ability to breathe.”  
They lapsed into silence, leaning heavily into each other as they caught their breath. Now that he wasn't focused, Cullen's eyes began to grow heavy, sliding closed against his will. He was just drifting off, sprawled on the ground, when he felt Dorian shivering. He opened one eye, looking over at the mage. The man was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to warm himself. Cullen pulled off his jacket- with some difficulty- and handed it over to the mage. Dorian took it without protest, nuzzling his face into the furred hood.  
“Thank you” he mumbled.  
“S'no worries” Cullen grinned lopsidedly, settling himself back against the wall, “y'know. Tonight's like th'first time we spoke.”  
He reached out, pulling Dorian against him. The man immediately tucked himself into the Ferelden's side, trying to get as much of himself into the big jacket as possible.  
“You remember the club?” Cullen continued, his speech slowing, “K-k-k-kari Wild. With Leliana's birthday. We went ou'side an' we were gonna kiss but then we didn'. Remember?” Without waiting for a response, Cullen went on, “'cept this time I'm not off my face on lyrium an' I'm drunk an' we actually kissed.”  
Cullen nodded slowly, letting his head fall back until he was resting against the wall. Drowsiness quickly began to set in once again, and he didn't fight the heaviness of his eyelids, letting his eyes slide closed as he let himself drift.  
“Can we be something serious?”  
The Ferelden grumbled, turning his head limply towards Dorian without opening his eyes, “what?”  
He heard Dorian sigh beside him, “can we… would you...” the mage fell silent beside him. Cullen heard the man take a few breaths, “will you be my boyfriend?”  
Cullen sat up, opening his eyes as he stared at Dorian in confusion, “I thought I 'lready was?”  
Dorian's eyes widened and his eyes quickly left Cullen's, “no. I… I thought we were casual. A-” he swallowed, visibly cringing at what he was about to say, “a thing.”  
Cullen scoffed, the sound not nearly as derisive as he'd meant it to be when it caused him to cough and splutter. When he'd finally regained his breath, he turned a glare to Dorian, “a thing? Tha's what I mean to you? What this means't'you? I'm juss casual?” His slur became more pronounced as he grew angrier, but he cared little. Hurt burned fiercely in his heart.   
“No, Cullen-”  
Cullen scoffed again, more successfully this time. He pushed himself off the ground, wobbling a little with the force of it. Dorian tried to grab his hand, but Cullen snatched it away, as fast as if he'd been burned.  
“Cullen, please. You mean more to me than th-”  
“Save it” Cullen barked, beginning to pace. His anger intensified rapidly, manifesting like a black cloud in his chest. He could see Dorian out of the corner of his eye, curled up on himself, small. He looked like a frightened animal, grey eyes like saucers as they stared up at Cullen. A small, sobering part of the Ferelden told him to calm himself, listen to what Dorian had to say, but the numerous beers and spirits that were churning sluggishly in his stomach and bloodstream screamed at him to continue his onslaught.  
“Cullen” Dorian tried again, his voice small, “please. I promise you that you mean so much to me.”  
Cullen barked a laugh, the sound harsh and completely devoid of humour, “essept I was casual, huh? Juss a fffucking fling!” He growled, hitting his head as tears began to sting his eyes, fury brewing as his own weaknesses threatened to undermine his point. He turned his inward anger outward, rounding on Dorian, “have you even been with jusst me? Has there been mmore men?”. He'd meant the question to sting. To hurt Dorian the way he was hurting, and to soothe some of his own pain when the mage vehemently denied it. But nothing came. Just silence.   
Tears threatening to break free, Cullen turned to Dorian, anger completely gone, replaced instead by a hollow feeling at the sight of the mage looking away, chewing anxiously on his lip.  
“You haven' been with anyone else. No.” he shook his head violently, “please tell m'you haven't.”  
“Well” Dorian began, eyes on the floor, voice shaky, “not since I found you. When you were high.”  
“You slept with oth'r people while you're with me?”  
Dorian opened his mouth, but said nothing. Instead, he kept his gaze on the ground, nodding.  
Cullen felt his face screw up as the tears began to flow. He didn't know what he was feeling; if it was anger, sadness, betrayal, or simply the inexplicable notion that that was exactly what he deserved.  
“I-I-I thought we had s'm'thing” he sobbed, tears flowing profusely over his cheeks, “were s'mething. I thought I lo-” even in his drunken state, Cullen was able to bite back the confession. Not now. Not ever.  
He heard Dorian stand, felt the mage's hand upon his arm. “I'm sorry” the mage murmured, running his hand along Cullen's arm soothingly. His voice sounded funny, hollow, “I never wanted to hurt you. We weren't on the same page, and for that I am deeply sorry.” He sighed, pressing his face to Cullen's heaving chest, “we should have talked about it. _I_ should have talked about it.”  
Cullen couldn't find his words. Instead he stood there, unable to stop crying, and not knowing whether or not he wanted to lean in to Dorian's touch, or if he wanted to slap the man's hands away. Sensing that Cullen couldn't speak just yet, Dorian continued, words low and soothing, “I want to be with you properly. Officially, or whatever the term is. I want you to be my boyfriend.”  
Though Cullen still couldn't find his voice, he finally managed to will himself to move. He jerked out from under Dorian, swaying on the spot. The mage reached out to steady him but Cullen pushed his hands away. He began to walk. He didn't know where to, only that he wanted to get away from Dorian. He managed a few steps before he felt the mage catch his arm, almost pulling him off balance.   
“Please” Dorian begged, clutching tightly to Cullen's bicep, “don't leave me. Don't go.”  
Cullen ripped his arm from Dorian's grip, tucking it tightly against his chest and out of the mage's reach. His words bubbled up inside his chest and he spat them like poison at the man he loved.  
“Fuck you, Dorian.”  
And he walked away, leaving Dorian and his broken expression under the glowing neon sign of the bar. Cullen didn't look back.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't No Rest For The Wicked- Cage The Elephant


	16. Never Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian relives a painful memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!
> 
> A quick trigger warning: this chapter contains mild violence and mentions of sexual assault.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! And I am so glad that there are so many people that enjoy this fic. As always I love hearing from you all!

The time rift flickered closed again, and Dorian felt his last semblance of patience snap. He snatched up his coffee cup, hurling it against the wall. It shattered loudly, painting the wall with coffee, though Dorian didn't stop to admire the mess he made. Instead he grabbed for the amulet, going to throw it too. He only just managed to stop himself, tossing it back on his bed as a stream of curses poured from his mouth. He had been trying for days, not leaving his room except when he had to go to work or to the bathroom. And nothing. Years of research, and he still couldn't get time magic to work. He kicked his bed, eyes popping as pain shot through his bare foot and up his leg.  
“Kaffas!”  
“Fancy Pants?”  
Dorian growled as his bedroom door opened, Sera's blonde head appearing. Her eyes widened, no doubt taking in the state of Dorian's room; furniture shoved up against the walls, notes strewn across the floor, mugs and wine bottles littering the desk and dresser.  
“So that's where all our mugs went...”  
The mage huffed in irritation, sitting down heavily on his bed, holding onto his injured foot. He felt Sera sit down next to him, tucking her feet under herself.  
“You alright?”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, “I'm fine, Sera.”  
“Yeah” Sera said blandly, leaning against him, “that's why you decided start chucking shit.”  
Dorian bristled, Sera's concern only making his ire flare. He only just managed to keep his temper contained, taking a deep breath before he spoke, “yes, well, it was such an ugly mug. Something had to be done.”  
The elf blew a raspberry at him, “stop being an arse, you. Talk.”  
“About what, exactly?” Dorian snapped, crossing his arms.  
Sera mirrored his movements, glaring up at him, “I told you to _stop_ being an arse. Not do it more.” She sighed, softening a little, “I know you and Bull are all up in each other's faces. And I know you think that Bull is being a pissbag.”  
Dorian, despite his foul mood, had to stifle a laugh.  
“Shut it. Point is, he's just trying to make sure you're ok, by doing that thing where he _knows_ things. Only thing is is he doesn't know how to know things without being a shite about it.”  
Dorian blinked, “I… what?”  
The elf groaned, “forget it. Just both of you get your heads out of your arses and make up or whatever.”  
“Oh, I can certainly see that happening” Dorian scoffed, “shall I just prostrate myself before him? Kiss his feet as I humbly beg his forgiveness?”  
The withering look Sera fixed him was almost enough to make him feel bad. Almost.  
“What? He was the one-”  
“I don't care which one of you has bigger parts, so save it.”  
“What in the Maker's na-”  
“Shut up!” she cried, “it's like a big friggin' pissing contest with you two. It doesn't matter! Soon you'll be jousting again and bloody singing the Chant of Light while you do.”  
Dorian wrinkled his nose in disgust, “first of all, Bull follows the Qun, not the Chant. Secondly, I would never-”  
“You're missing the point!”  
Dorian's eye twitched. He could almost feel a blood vessel pulsing angrily in his temple, and knew it would burst if he was interrupted again. “Then what, pray tell” he began, only just managing to keep his voice even, “is the point?”  
“You and your Cully-Wully.”  
Though he was no less angry, sadness that wasn't there before hit Dorian in the chest like a punch, “mm. Well, I don't think he is my… Cully-Wully anymore. He certainly doesn't seem to want to be.”  
Sera grimaced, tucking a shaggy blonde lock behind her long ear, “maybe that's not all bad though, yeah?”  
Dorian's temper flared yet again, “I beg your pardon?”  
“I mean, I like Cullen” she amended with a shrug, “he cares, that much is obvious. Nice hair. Wouldn't think he was on your team. But then heard you two at it, so, now I know.”  
“Andraste's tits...”  
“But, you're always kind of sad with him. And then he runs off to the arse end of Ferelden.”  
Dorian bit back the angry response that formed, “he doesn't make me unhappy. And this is only the second time he's gone.”  
“Whatever.” Sera replied flippantly, “all I'm saying is that there shouldn't have been a first.”  
The feeling of _she's right_ made Dorian ache, so he pushed it down, scrabbling for some semblance of his wit. “Well, if you and Bull are to have any luck at all, perhaps this time he won't come back,” he laughed bitterly, “oh, that's right. He didn't come back the first time, did he? Silly me.”  
“That isn-”  
“Ah ah” he interrupted, holding up a finger, “I thank you so graciously for your kind words of wisdom, Sera. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an entire evening of drunken failure and wallowing lined up.”  
“Right” she stood, the tips of her ears flushed and twitching, “well, there you go then.”  
Dorian's stomach twisted horribly as he realised he had hurt her. Anger all but forgotten, he reached out, catching her arm as she began to leave.  
“Thank you” he murmured sincerely, pulling her into a hug. For just a moment, the scrawny elf relaxed into the embrace, but the moment was quickly over. She pulled back.  
“Don't be daft, yeah?” she snickered, before blowing a raspberry and leaving.  
Dorian stood there for a moment, arms still outstretched, not quite sure if he had fixed things or not. He shook his head, walking over to his bed and scooping up the amulet. He cast a last look of confusion at his bedroom door, not sure if his talk with Sera had made him feel better or worse. With no answers readily available he lowered himself onto the floor, returning to his work.

***

A few hours later and Dorian was almost as frustrated as he was before, though this time he had no mugs of coffee to redecorate with. Every time he managed to open a rift, it would close before he could really try and get it to materalise. Each rip in time was superficial. A replaying of the memory that it was manifested from. He tried desperately to get each rift to deepen, tried to open them so that they became a door to the past, rather than a window. He'd begun to notice a pattern; if the memories were 'played' from his perspective, if he could see the time from his own eyes, they wouldn't work. They were superficial rifts. He'd only managed to get a few true rifts, openings where he could see himself, not through his past eyes. And each time the rifts had fizzled out, taking what felt like a piece of his sanity with them.  
Dorian pushed and pushed, but eventually got to the point where his mana was so sapped that the rifts were barely more than a spark. He sprawled on the floor, digging up any memory he could. The time he and Felix had tormented their tutor. The time he was in bed for a week with a flu. The time he spent his entire day in the library. One of the many times he and his father had a huge fight. Each rift closed more quickly than the last.  
The mage didn't consciously realise, but all of the memories slowly began to centre around his father. He forgot what he was doing, absently gesturing as thoughts of his father reared in his mind. His father who had mocked him. Who had ridiculed him. The father who had hurt him. Rejected him. Betrayed him. The father who wanted a perfect son so much he had-  
Dorian's head snapped up at a sudden ripping sound. The room was bathed in a sickly green light, emitted from the rift that had opened in its centre. A true rift. A rift that showed the day that made Dorian flee Tevinter.  
The mage rushed forwards, trying to close the rift, tears beginning to sting his eyes. The rift was too strong, however; manifested on Dorian's own deep hurt and rage as it was, and his mana already so depleted.  
“No” he begged weaky, backing up. He fell back onto his bed, pushing himself until his back hit the wall, “please, no.”  
Through the glowing, ragged edges of the rift, Dorian could see down into the lower levels of the Pavus estate; his father's study. He felt his stomach flip nauseatingly at the sight of the elven slave, nude body writhing and twisting against her binds, and his own barely clothed form, trussed up before the doomed elf, all presented as if he watched from the doorway.  
The elf mewled, tears choking her pleas, spoken in a mix of Tevene and broken Common. They only grew more wild and desperate when Halward entered from beyond the confines of the rift, looking unfazed in his impeccable suit, stepping forwards until he was was in front of past Dorian. He leaned in, and though Dorian couldn't hear the words spoken from his room, he could remember the soft Tevene as if it were being whispered to him again.  
“Today, my dear boy, you become a man.”  
“Father, please!” he heard himself beg, “don't do this to me! I'm your son!”  
“I know” Halward replied, louder, as he sauntered over to the weeping elf, “and that is why I must do this.”  
His own pleas mingled with the elf's, and Dorian felt sick. He so desperately wanted to move, to run away, to just close his eyes; but he sat frozen, eyes wide in fear and glued to the gruesome scene as it played out before him.  
Halward drew a small knife from his breast pocket, pressing it to the elf's exposed wrists. She whimpered pitifully, hanging her head. His father reached forwards, tracing a hand idly up the elf's exposed stomach. She twitched away from his touch, another sob rattling out of her.  
“I do not understand how you cannot admire her, Dorian” his father mused, “or any woman. No matter.” He reached out, picking up a small bowl set between Dorian and the elf, and then pressed his knife into the elf's delicate wrist, “we shall soon cure you. And you'll no longer be a disgrace” he collected the blood in the bowl before giving the other wrist the same treatment, “soon you shall be my perfect son.”  
The elf's anguished shrieks soon quieted, her body paling as her blood continued to seep sluggishly from her wounds. Dorian looked helplessly at her limp form, only able to tell that she still lived from the shallow breaths that made her bloodied chest rise and fall.  
Tears began to flow freely from the mage's eyes as his attention was torn from the dying elf and back to his past self, and he realised what his father was doing. Halward dipped his fingers into the bowl, beginning to draw symbols over Dorian's bare skin. He watched himself shake with fear, and mirrored it. And he felt the pain searing across his chest once again as he watched his father drag the knife through his skin, drawing more symbols with Dorian's own blood across his chest.  
“I-I-I won't b-b-be me anymore” he heard himself sob, the sound beginning to quiet, “please.”  
Dorian could so clearly picture the sad smile that Halward wore, “and that is the point, Dorian.” He turned, looking beyond the rift, “Prycis! Gallus!” he barked, “come, I require your assistance...”  
The sound from the memory began to fade, and then too did the rift, flickering until it died, letting the amulet fall to the ground. Dorian looked around wildly for the strange ripping sound, until he realised it was coming from his chest. He gasped, trying desperately to breathe, but all that came out were sobs, racking him down to his core. He pushed himself off the bed, snatching up the locket from his floor and throwing it into his desk drawer, slamming it closed. He stumbled out of his room, clutching at his stomach, his body refusing to cease heaving as he continued to cry.  
“Bull!” he shouted, voice strangled, “Bull, please, I need-” he threw open the Qunari's door, but the room was dark and empty.  
“Kaffas” he hissed, voice barely more than a whisper. He went on to Sera's room, but hers was just as empty.  
“Venhedis!” he cried, struggling against his thick throat to get the word out. He made for the kitchen, unable to even look at his bedroom door. Once out there he leaned on the kitchen counter, letting his body shake as he wept. He opened his eyes, realising that he was letting his tears fall onto a note. He picked it up, barely able to read it for how blurry the tears made his vision:

  
_Fancy Pants,_  
Didn't want to come in coz you were yelling and all. Gone over to Widdle's. Back later. Don't break more shit.  
-Sera

Dorian shrieked wordlessly in a mix of anger and anguish. He let fire engulf his hands, burning the note to ashes. He stared blankly at the fire licking over his flesh, still shuddering occasionally as the tears began to subside. _It's okay_ he told himself, closing his eyes tight. He rocked back and forth, whispering reassurances to himself. Slowly, he found himself able to breathe properly, though his eyes were still wet.  
The fire had just begun to prickle his skin when he heard a knock at the door. The mage let the flames die, straightening up. He wiped at his eyes, wincing as the raw, puffy skin stung under his touch, and quickly ran a hand through his hair, not doing anything to fix what was surely something akin to a bird's nest. Taking a deep breath, he strode to the front door, undoing the chain and pulling it open. And there, on the landing, swaddled in his ridiculous furred coat, stood Cullen.  
The Ferelden looked up from the ground, apologetic look quickly twisting into concern, “Dorian, what happ-”  
Like a flash of lightning, Dorian was _furious_. Before Cullen could even finish his question, he yelled his own, “what the fuck do you think you're doing? What else could you possibly want from me?”  
Cullen took a step back, eyes widening, “I-”  
“You let me pour my heart out to you!” Dorian continued, “and then you left me standing there like a fucking idiot! I've never said anything like that to _anyone_. I bared myself to you like I have never before and you… you” he slowed, losing momentum as the anger was slowly rivalled by hurt, “you broke my fucking heart, Cullen.”  
Dorian didn't know if he felt more guilty or vindicated as he watched Cullen's face crumple, but he didn't let himself betray either emotion, instead he stood there, glowering, as the blond's gaze fell to the ground.  
“I'm sorry” the man murmured, refusing to look at Dorian, “I assumed. I shouldn't have.” He sighed heavily, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck, “I'm sorry” he repeated, “truly, I am. I… I decided on my own that you and I were something more than we were. And I never asked. I just assumed that we were on the same page; that we meant the same to one another when really, I had no idea.”  
Dorian felt himself soften just the slightest bit. He wanted so desperately to stay mad, to slam the door in Cullen's face, but when the man stood in front of him, so broken, so genuinely apologetic, it was hard to.  
“I'm sorry for getting mad” Cullen continued, eyes still firmly on the ground, “and I'm sorry for swearing at you. And I will forever be sorry for leaving you again.”  
He finally ripped his gaze from the ground, and Dorian felt sadness twist his gut at the despair in those honey brown eyes. It was enough to shatter his already weakened resolve, and he felt tears he didn't know he had left streak his cheeks.  
“I promise” Cullen breathed, taking Dorian's hands, “I won't ever leave you again. You're my… You mean so much to me.”  
Dorian rocked forwards, letting himself fall into Cullen's arms. Cullen caught him with a surprised huff, but seemed to recover quickly, as Dorian felt the man's arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Dorian shuddered, and his sobbing started up again where it left off. He shook in Cullen's arms, tears flowing hot and quick over his cheeks, making wet patches where his face rested against Cullen's shirt.  
The Ferelden hushed him, stroking his hair soothingly as he led them both into the apartment. Dorian heard the front door close, and then a solid thud as Cullen leaned back against it. They stood there for a while, Dorian wailing into Cullen's solid form as the Ferelden rocked them both soothingly, carding his fingers through the mage's hair. Finally, Dorian cried himself out, eyes sore and puffy, Cullen's shirt stained from the skerricks of eyeliner that had survived Dorian's previous breakdown.  
Cullen gently leaned back, and Dorian reluctantly untwisted his fingers from the man's jacket, letting himself be led over to the couch. He sat down, tucking his knees to his chest. He cried out softly in surprise when Cullen pulled him in, tucking him under his arm.  
“What's wrong?” Cullen asked quietly.  
The mage sighed, nuzzling himself closer to Cullen. When he said nothing, Cullen nudged him.  
“Please, tell me” he murmured.  
“I've been working on time magic” Dorian replied, hesitantly, his voice cracking from his sore his throat was, “a magic theorem that would allow me to, essentially, go into the past. Physically.”  
The silence that met his words made Dorian wince, but he decided to press on, “my mentor, Gereon, and I were working on it together for some years, but before we could figure out how it worked, his wife passed, and he gave up.”  
“Time magic?” Cullen repeated slowly.  
Dorian nodded, “it doesn't work properly, yet. And may not ever. Most times I only see the past, others I don't see anything. Today, however, was different.” His breath hitched as his thoughts turned to the sickly green rift, and the horrific scene it had contained. He pressed his face into Cullen's chest, “I saw a memory of my father.”  
He sighed, closing his eyes at the feeling of Cullen brushing a kiss to the top of his head, “continue, if you're able.”  
“My father” he continued, taking a shuddering breath, “does not… I… I saw… ” a took another breath, trying to steady himself, “he tried to use blood magic on me. So that I wouldn't be gay.”  
Cullen said nothing, instead tightening his embrace around Dorian. The mage nuzzled in close, taking comfort in the strong arms wrapped around him, forcing himself to take deep steadying breaths as his panic abated.

***

Dorian must have dozed, because when his eyes reopened he had been laid down on the couch, a blanket thrown over him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, cringing at how sore they were.  
“You're finally awake”  
Dorian jumped at the voice, whipping around to see Cullen standing behind the couch, steaming mugs in hand.  
“You'll want to watch me around those” Dorian joked, voice still a little slurred with sleep, “they don't generally survive my wrath.”  
Cullen cocked his head in confusion, “what are you on about?”  
Dorian flicked his hand in dismissal, “don't worry about it.”  
“I…” Cullen furrowed his eyebrows in bemusement, absently handing Dorian his tea, “okay.”  
Dorian yawned, cuddling up to Cullen as he sat down next to him. He hummed happily, taking a sip of his tea.  
“You made it hot” he said incredulously, taking another eager sip.  
“Yes?”  
Dorian huffed a quiet laugh, “Bull is absolutely useless. He can't seem to work out the kettle. Thankfully, it seems as if I finally have someone competent around here.”  
Cullen chuckled, brushing his fingers absently along Dorian's cheekbone. The mage cringed, realising under Cullen's touch how stubbly he had let his face grow. But it was forgotten as he felt Cullen's arm slide around his waist. He let out a soft cry as the Ferelden suddenly pulled him onto his lap, almost cradling him against his chest.  
“That was unnecessary” Dorian pouted, only having just managed to not spill the boiling hot liquid over himself.  
Cullen snickered, “you say that, yet I don't see you moving.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, taking another drink to stifle the insult he threw Cullen's way.  
“So” Cullen said brightly, unperturbed, “tell me about time magic.”  
The mage arched a brow, “you really want to hear more about magic?”  
Cullen seemed to go over the question for a moment, but after just the slightest hesitation, he nodded enthusiastically, “this is something that means a lot to you. I want to know more.”  
Dorian couldn't help the wide smiled that spread across his face, nor the warmth that bloomed in his chest.  
“Well” he began, leaning in dramatically, “take the most unstable thing you can possibly think of, and multiply it by ten.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter heavily features time magic. I've decided that, for it to properly serve the plot of this fic, I needed to change it a bit. I tried to explain it in the chapter, but, it was hard to do it without making it too clunky.  
> Basically, unlike the rift featured in the game, you can see into the rifts. Also, Dorian is using his own memories as a basis for each rift. So I kind of thought, in my own headcanon I guess, that there are two types of rifts- ones that let you see into the past (windows) and ones that actually let you go into the past (doors). SO, the one that Dorian opened to the ritual was actually a door.  
> Hope this helps any confusion; if anyone wants to know more I'm happy to add to this!
> 
> Never Enough- The Cure


	17. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian approaches the Monstimmard Mage Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't too boring! It is mostly furthering the plot, but I hope that I made it interesting enough. 
> 
> I'm really enjoying getting back into this fic, though I have been considering writing another little ficlet (not Cullrian, but still Dragon Age) in the gap between this chapter and the next. Still, I plan to keep writing Ball and Chain, so don't fret if you're still following the story; there is much more to come!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always I love hearing any feedback! Thank you all for reading :)

The plane ride had been long and uncomfortable, but Dorian decided it was worth it when he looked up at the ornate building that towered over him. He had never been one for traditional Orlesian architecture- he found it a tad ridiculous with all its frippery- but there was something about the Montsimmard mage tower that made even Dorian pause to admire it.   
Dorian's steel grey eyes trailed down pillars and fell upon the grand doors that stood open, encouraging him to step into the decadent foyer. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he hitched his satchel higher up on his shoulder and walked inside.  
The Tevinter approached the main desk with trepidation; he felt that his footsteps echoed too loudly in the quiet foyer. Normally he felt at home amidst such grandeur, but the closer he came to his meeting with the Grand Enchanter, the more he felt his usual confidence give way to the nerves that made his stomach flip and twist.  
The woman behind the desk didn't look up when Dorian approached, ignoring him in favour for the thick tome that she had perched on her knees. Dorian waited, assuming that she would tend to him once she had finished her paragraph; but when she turned the page, the mage felt a flicker of irritation. He leaned forwards on the counter, trying to keep his expression pleasant.  
“I don't mean to interrupt, but I-”  
“'Tis no matter whether you mean to” the woman drawled, cutting him off, “for you already have.” She placed a length of ribbon onto the open page, setting the book aside with such care that Dorian would have been impressed, had the woman in question not been so rude. Her topaz eyes flicked up to meet his, “how may I assist you?”  
Dorian offered the woman a cool smile, “I'm here to see Madame de Fer.”  
She arched a brow, “I assume that you have an appointment? It would be most foolish to surprise the Grand Enchantress.”  
Dorian only just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he adjusted his blazer, looking every bit the insufferable, pompous altus, “on the contrary, my fine lady, don't you think it's rather more foolish to keep the guest of such a woman waiting with such inane questions? If you must know,” he stretched a hand out over the desk, “I am Dorian of house Pavus. And yes, I do have an appointment.”  
To the Tevinter's surprise, the woman grinned, “my my. It has been far too long since we've had anyone remotely interesting grace these halls” she took his outstretched hand firmly, “I am, simply, Morrigan.”  
Dorian nodded, withdrawing his hand. This woman- Morrigan- was unnerving; odd. She seemed to sense his discomfort, or had simply decided that the conversation was over, for she stood, stepping out from behind the desk.  
“Come” she said simply, before turning on her heel and walking briskly away. After a second of stunned stillness at the strange ensemble the woman wore- a mishmash of shawls, a singlet dress, and a very visible corset- Dorian hitched his bag higher up his shoulder and followed after her.  


***  


  
Dorian felt the last of his confidence leak out of him as he sat outside Madame de Fer's office. He tried to force himself to breathe evenly, but his breath came and left in quick, shallow huffs. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and switching on the screen. He had roughly ten minutes until his meeting began, and Morrigan had told him that the Grand Enchantress was punctual to the minute. Keeping that in mind, Dorian quickly scrolled to Cullen's contact and called him. He jammed the phone to his ear, leg beginning to bounce as he prayed for Cullen to pick up. The fifth ring had begun when he heard the line connect.  
“Dorian, how did-”

Cullen didn't manage to finish his question before Dorian's nerves spilled out in a jumbled mess, “CullenIcan'tdothis.”  
He heard Cullen laugh quietly on the other end, “calm down, sweet. What's wrong?”  
Though the term of endearment wasn't missed on Dorian, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He took a deep breath before trying again, “I don't know if I can do this.”  
“Hey” Cullen murmured placatingly, and Dorian could almost imagine the way the blond's hand would be brushing through his hair, soothing him, “you can do this. Think about how long you've worked, how helpful that funding will be.”  
Dorian huffed a nervous laugh, “what if I fuck it all up, though?”  
“You won't” he heard Cullen shuffling around, quiet, steady breaths in his ear, “you're going to be amazing. I don't think anyone can resist your charms. I certainly can't.”  
Dorian couldn't help the blush that warmed his cheeks, “you truly think so?”  
“I do” Cullen replied.  
The mage forced himself to take a few deep breaths, each calming him a little more. The further he relaxed, the more he felt an urgent need bubble up inside him. Words that ached to get out. He pushed them down.  
“I miss you” he sighed instead.  
Cullen's sad laugh made him ache a little, “and I miss you too.”  
Dorian smiled to himself, looking down at his watch, “shit.”  
“What?”  
Immediately the butterflies returned to Dorian's stomach, “I need to go.” He groaned, anxiety clawing at him, “promise me you'll call me tonight.”  
“Of course.”  
Dorian growled, “promise me.”  
Cullen laughed, “I promise! I promise. I swear by the Maker I'll call you tonight.”  
“Good. Thank you.”  
“Good luck, Dorian. You'll be fine.” Dorian's breath hitched as the phone beeped. Already he missed the sound of Cullen's voice. He didn't have much time to dwell, however. It felt like only seconds after he'd opened his phone camera to check his hair that the door to the office opened.   


***  


Madame de Fer was impressive. More than impressive. She was awe-inspiring. Dorian sat in the chair by her desk, intimidated by the imposing woman whom sat regally across from him. She was all curves and lines, her form-fitting white pantsuit contrasting fiercely with the rich darkness of her skin. Dorian had to admit, though women held nothing of desire for him, if he would be attracted to any woman, it would be Madame de Fer. He suddenly felt scruffy in his blazer and trousers.   
“Darling, might I ask your name?”  
Dorian took a short, steadying breath. He reached forwards, brushing a polite kiss to the Grand Enchantress' outstretched hand. He leaned back, “I am Dorian, scion of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous. It is truly a pleasure, Madame de Fer.”  
The woman's eyebrows rose in surprise, “you've come all the way from Tevinter?”  
Dorian's cheeks darkened with embarrassment, “ah, not quite, my dear woman. I am currently living in Denerim. Minrathous simply sounds far more impressive.”  
“My dear, anything sounds more impressive than Ferelden” she hummed in amusement.  
Dorian chuckled, “nothing truer was ever said.”  
She dipped her head just slightly, a delicate nod, and Dorian took it as a sign of approval.   
“Now, Dorian” she began, reaching for the tea set that sat on her desk, “why are you here?”  
The Tevinter accepted the tea cup that was offered to him, holding onto it as tight as he could without shattering the thin porcelain.  
“I've been researching and experimenting with, ah” he paused, trying to figure the best way to express what he meant, without causing alarm, “time magic.”  
He earned himself a sharp look from Madame de Fer, “time magic? What a… simple way to put a magic that is surely far more complex than that. And you've been 'experimenting' alone?”  
“No” Dorian assured her quickly, “for years I was mentored by Gereon Alexius. The research was his. I simply continued after he decided to abandon it.”  
“I have heard of Alexius, and his proficiency as a magister” Madame de Fer pursed her lips, “don't you think it would have been more wise to discontinue the research if even your own mentor deemed it unworthy?”  
Dorian winced, “it wasn't quite like that, unfortunately. Gereon started researching the magic in an attempt to reverse his son's illness. However, his wife passed, and after that he… just stopped.”  
The woman's expression softened, “I see.” She took a sip from her teacup, leaning back in her chair ever so slightly. She seemed to be processing what Dorian had told her, so the Tevinter sat there quietly, waiting.  
“My dear” she said finally, straightening back up, “tell me more.”  


***  


Two hours later and Madame de Fer's magnificent desk had papers strewn all over it. Long lists of calculations and diagrams were overlaid with observations and photographs. The Grand Enchantress was absorbed in Dorian's latest observations.  
“You were able to conjure an actual portal?” she asked quietly, not lifting her eyes from the page.  
“Yes” Dorian affirmed, reaching for a photograph. He quickly glanced at it before handing it to her, “I'm not sure that I would have been able to physically step into it, but it wasn't a memory.”  
“Astounding” she murmured, setting down the page, “and how curious that a Tevinter should be the one to think of it. I had thought most from your homeland rather preoccupied with blood magic and legalised apostasy.”  
Dorian barked a laugh, “on the contrary, my dear, our freedom affords us far more time to research important magical theorems. Meanwhile, I hear that the latest trend in Orelsian magic is… Oh, forgive me, I'd forgotten that Circles forbid 'non-essential' use of a mage's abilities.”  
The woman tilted her head to the side just slightly, humour ever so slightly apparent in her features, “it appears that this relationship will be quite entertaining.” Then it was gone, replaced by her professional mask. She leaned forwards, lacing her fingers, “your research does interest me greatly. And I would like to offer you funding, which, though you have danced around the subject, I'm sure you require. And, seeing as you're an apostate-”  
Dorian couldn't help how his eyes widened.  
“Don't fret, dear” Madame de Fer offered him a reassuring smile, “I don't mean to turn you in.”  
The Tevinter considered that for a moment, “but, forgive me, aren't you obliged to? You are the head of Montsimmard.”  
She arched a brow, “I can report you, if that is what you wish.”  
“That won't be necessary.”  
She gave him a polite smile, “I thought not. Besides, talent and ambition such as this would surely be wasted, if restricted by the Chantry rules. And I would rather not see you rotting in a Circle, which I'm sure would be the outcome if you attempted to register now.”  
Dorian winced, “Ferelden doesn't take too kindly to apostates.”  
Madame de Fer hummed in agreement, “nor mages in general.” She reached down, pulling papers from her desk, placing them in front of herself. “I don't make a habit of helping apostates” she stated, eyes on the forms, beginning to fill them out, “I find them to be little more than a liability.  
“However” she pushed the forms over to Dorian, handing him her fountain pen, “in a case such as this; when the pursuit of knowledge itself is the payoff, I find myself making an exception.” She paused, wrinkling her nose in distaste, “or in cases where I am forced to.”  
Dorian looked up from the forms, “forced to?”  
The Grand Enchantress nodded, “I believe you've already met Morrigan.”  
Dorian scoffed, “Madame, I mean no offense, but I find it hard to believe that you could be _forced_ to do anything.”  
She gave him a small smile, “my dear, when at the behest of the Empress, it is foolish to refuse even the smallest of suggestions.”  
“I see” Dorian murmured, turning back to his forms. Once filled out, he handed them back to Madame de Fer.   
“You're in Denerim, yes?” she asked, sending the papers off with a flick of her wrist. Dorian nodded, eyes following the forms as they floated away, slotting themselves into a filing cabinet.  
“Excellent” Madame de Fer procured a key from her desk, handing it to Dorian, “this is to a studio I own on the outskirts of Amaranthine” before Dorian could take the key she snatched it back, holding it in her clawlike nails while her eyes held Dorian's with equal sharpness, “do not betray my trust with this. I will not have my name sullied by a foolish apostate who wanders into the arms of a patrolling Templar. Arrive only after nightfall and leave before dawn.”  
Dorian straightened up, looking Madame de Fer directly, “I won't mess this up. This research means so much to me; I wouldn't do anything to endanger it. Or, by extension, you.”  
The Grand Enchantress seemed to accept this, for she finally handed over the key, “now, you must know that you will not always be alone in the studio.”  
“Oh?”  
She grimaced, “another apostate, Solas, may be there at times. I don't imagine that you will have to engage with him too often, but nonetheless he is insufferable” she shuddered delicately, “he is the living stereotype of an apostate.”  
Dorian smiled coyly, “are you saying that you prefer me over this Solas?”  
She returned the smile, though it was far more polite and disingenuous, “don't be so bold, my dear. I simply think you dress far better than him. I will never understand the elvhen obsession of going barefoot.” She paused, the slightest of frowns on her face, “but all of that is besides the point. You will come to Orlais at least once every two months to keep me updated on your progress.”  
“Of course” Dorian agreed, “I will keep in touch as much as is humanly possible.”  
She lifted her chin, “splendid. I expect great things from this, Dorian. Do not disappoint me.”  
Dorian bowed his head, “I would never dream of it.” He stood, recognising the dismissal. He gathered his things before hitching his bag over his shoulder, “I thank you so much for this opportunity, Madame de Fer.”  
She rested back against the chair, folding her hands delicately over her lap, “and I thank you for bringing this to me. And please, my dear” she cocked her head slightly, offering him the faintest of smiles, “call me Vivienne.”  
Dorian's heart fluttered in his chest, but he tried to keep his face neutral, “then I thank you, Vivienne. And until I see you again.”  
Vivienne waved her hand, and her office doors opened for Dorian, “au revior.”  
Dorian gave her a final nod before he stepped out of her office, closing the tall white doors behind him.  


***  


Dorian lay on his back, phone held above him as he video chatted with Cullen. He had initially laughed at his boyfriend's choice of pyjamas, but now he found it a little difficult to look away from the gratuitous amount of skin revealed by Cullen's ratty muscle singlet.  
“… she's said that I can use a studio in Amaranthine for my research” he babbled, taking a quick breath before continuing, “apparently I'll have to share it with this elf, Solas, who is a bit of a knob, according to Vivienne. And Cullen, I swear that if he gets in the way of my experiments I'll- why are you laughing?”  
He scowled up at Cullen, who had his hand over his mouth as he stifled laughter.  
“I'm sorry” Cullen chuckled, still grinning, “you're just adorable when you get excited.”  
Dorian scowled, though he could feel heat in his cheeks, “Amatus, how am I supposed to be a serious scholarly mage when you label me as _adorable_?”.  
“What does Amatus mean?”  
Dorian's eyes widened, cheeks darkening further as he realised his slip. “It means barbarian” he explained quickly, “for only someone simple could look at my magnificent power and dilute it to the point where I could be described as adorable.”  
Cullen's smug smile hadn't faded, however, “I don't believe you. Amatus” Dorian's heart thudded for how the endearment sounded, twisted by the Ferelden's lilt, “is far too pretty a word to mean something so base. Though” he continued, “that could just be because you're the one saying it.”  
Dorian's mock scowl wavered, “hush, you” he protested, “flattery won't make me miss you more.”

Cullen chuckled, “I miss you too, Dorian.” He sighed, “I miss you a lot.”  
Dorian smiled sadly, “I'll be home tomorrow.”  
The Ferelden seemed to brighten a little, “and I'll be waiting at the airport, ready to sweep you off your feet the minute I see you.”  
“I see your daydreams are thoroughly grounded in reality” the mage teased, rolling his eyes, “and here Felix thinks _I'm_ the ridiculous one.”  
“How is Felix?” Cullen suddenly asked, “have you told him?”  
Dorian felt sadness leak into him a little, “he's… ok. Simply no better, but no worse either.” He shook himself a little, “and yes, I did tell him. He sounded almost as excited as I am.”  
Cullen grinned, “I'm glad he's alright, at least. And even more glad that you have a friend that can express the right amount of enthusiasm.”  
Dorian scoffed, “don't put yourself down, my dear man. You indulge me far more than Felix ever would.”  
Cullen's smile twisted into something a little more wicked, “oh, I'm more than ready to indulge you as soon as you get home tomorrow.”  
Dorian groaned, feeling heat pool in his stomach, “quiet! Before I miss you even more and I have to do something very undignified in this hotel room.”  
Cullen poked his tongue out in response, “if you did you'd only be copying me.”  
The mage growled, “I'm going to sleep, before you can say anything more to make the next 24 hours harder.”  
“Not the only thing I'll make harder...”  
Dorian glared at his boyfriend, “Maker, what has gotten into you?”  
“Hopefully y-” Cullen stopped, most likely at the severe expression on Dorian's face, “uhh… I miss you and goodnight?”  
Dorian's expression softened, “I miss you too, more than I'd like to admit. Goodnight.”  
He pressed the end button, and Cullen's face was replaced by the photo of the two of them that Dorian had set as his lock screen. As he looked over the photo, he felt his eyelids droop.   
“Goodnight, Amatus” he sighed before setting his phone down, and letting his eyes slide closed.  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genesis- Grimes


	18. The Idea of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen picks up Dorian from the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! 
> 
> New chapter here (finally) and I hope you all enjoy it! I love knowing that you guys are just as into following with Dorian and Cullen as I am :)

Cullen pressed the heels of his palms hard into his eyes, trying to rub away his fatigue, as well as the headache that was beginning to build in the base of his skull; the din of the cafe was doing nothing to help it. He took his hands away, blinking blearily, Cassandra's scowl slowly coming into focus.  
“You have not been sleeping enough” she accused, narrowing her eyes at him over her tea cup.  
Cullen groaned, taking a long drink from his over-sweetened coffee, “you're telling me.”  
Cassandra made a noise of disgust, her glare intensifying, “do not jest, Cullen. This is serious.”  
He sighed, “I know” he leaned his chin on his hand, stirring his coffee absently, “I appreciate your concern, you know. It's just...”  
Cassandra's expression softened, “I understand.”  
Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hiss of pain. He blanched, nausea and pain rolling through him in a sickening wave. He leaned forwards onto the table, hands balling into fists. He quickly reached into his bag, scrabbling blindly for his elfroot tablets. He found them; or rather the empty pill packet, which he threw down with a curse, forced through clenched teeth.  
“Here.”  
Cassandra passed him two elfroots, which he almost snatched from her. He quickly took them, washing them down with a gulp of coffee.  
“Thank you” he groaned, resting his still pounding head on the table.  
He heard Cassandra sigh from above him, “are they always this bad?”

Cullen let out a humourless laugh, “honestly, they've been getting worse.”  
“You need to take better care of yourself.”  
Cullen lifted his head, fixing Cassandra with a glare, “and how, pray tell, am I meant to do that?” He pushed himself up with a small huff of pain, “do you think I'm just sitting on my hands, waiting to recover? I'm trying my hardest, no matter what you think.” He regretted the vitriol that wormed its way into his words, but he refused to take them back.  
“I do not think that little of you” Cassandra snapped, “but I feel that if you refuse to seek professional help you should at least be relying on Dorian.”  
Cullen deflated, “I can't burden him with this.”  
His friend looked at him sadly, reaching forwards to take his hand, “if he truly cares for you, he will help.” She squeezed his hand, giving him a small smile, “I wish I could be there for you more.”  
Cullen jumped at the subject change, the elfroot finally beginning to provide him some relief, “how is it in the precinct? Are you any closer?”  
Cassandra's smile turned hungry, “we are. The closest we have ever been” she leaned forwards, her voice lowering to almost a whisper, “I have been working closely with Cousland. We will soon bring Arl Howe to justice; for Anthony, and all the others he has hurt.”  
Cullen nodded, gripping Cassandra's hand tightly, “I'm glad for you, Cass” he laughed, “at least _one_ of us is making progress.”  
“Do not sell yourself short” she shot back with a smirk, “and speaking of family-”  
Cullen interrupted her with a groan, trying to ignore how petulant he must have looked, which was difficult, considering the severity with which Cassandra raised her eyebrow at him.  
“Have you reconnected yet?” she finished defiantly, “though judging from your childish display, I'll assume the answer is no.”  
The Ferelden looked at her sheepishly, “you would assume correctly.”  
She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. She set it down, opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it, taking another drink from her teacup.  
“I know it is your life” she began finally, “but if I were Mia, I would want to at least know that you are alive.”  
Cullen grimaced, “I agree with you. It's just...” his hand drifted to the back of his neck, “things were so volatile after I returned from Kirkwall.”  
“Cullen” Cassandra said sharply, “I have heard this excuse a thousand times-”  
“It isn't just that” he interrupted, “I don't want them to see that I'm still…” he trailed off, brow furrowing in frustration as he tried to force the words out, “I don't want them to see how much I'm still the man that left Kirkwall. I _can't_ let them see how lyrium still controls my life.”  
“But it doesn't a-”  
“It does” Cullen interjected harshly, “every morning when I throw up from withdrawals, I see how it controls me. Each time I'm sad or tired and all I want is another hit, it controls me. When Dorian is hesitant to touch me because he's so scared that it'll hurt me, it fucking controls me.  
It's bad enough that I have to let myself drag you and Dorian down with my shit. I can't let it poison my family.”  
Cassandra nodded, her face calm, though the way her knuckles strained with the tightness of the grip of her cup told another story. “I am sorry, Cullen. I… I wish you had told me earlier, so I could have avoided saying something so foolish.”  
Cullen sighed, “no, Cass, it wasn't foolish.” He smiled sadly, laying a hand on her forearm, “I know you only said it because you care. I just, I can't. Not now. Maybe not ever, but hopefully someday.”  
“I'll not push.”  
“Thank you” he gave her arm a light squeeze, “you're my best friend, you know.”  
She smirked, “I do. And you are mine. And being your best friend” she looked pointedly at her watch, “I know that you are going to be late to pick up Dorian.”  
Cullen's eyes widened, “shit.” He jumped up, digging around in his pocket for some sovereigns. Coins in hand, he slammed them down on the table. “It was great seeing you again, Cass” he pecked her on the cheek, “we should do this again soon.”  
He hoisted his bag over his shoulder, pretending he couldn't hear Cassandra's laughter as he sprinted off down the street.

***

Running had been a bad idea. Cullen sat at Dorian's gate, his joints aching, nausea rolling through his stomach; all the seats were taken, so he'd had to make do on the concrete floor. All of this was forgotten, however, when he saw Dorian's plane begin to taxi in. He jumped to his feet, all but pressing himself to the floor to ceiling windows in a bid to see Dorian. His effort was fruitless, but such was his eagerness to see his boyfriend again.  
His anticipation turned to restlessness as people began to file off the plane and into the passenger lounge. The line moved sluggishly, slowed by people dragging their luggage, or, in the case of one qunari, having difficulty getting their abnormally long horns through the doorway. Anxiety had just begun to take hold of Cullen when Dorian finally emerged. While all the other passengers around him looked jetlagged and bedraggled from the long flight, Dorian was pristine as ever, and practically glowing.  
As soon as he had extricated himself from the crowd, Cullen rushed over, sweeping him up in his arms and crushing him in a tight embrace.  
The mage laughed, and Cullen ached for how sweet the sound was after so long apart.  
“You are ridiculous.”  
Cullen hummed in agreement, “I couldn't break my promise, could I?”  
He set Dorian down, only to pull him into another rib breaking hug, “Maker, I missed you terribly.”  
“I was only gone two days” Dorian teased, “though I will admit I missed you too.”  
“It felt like forever” the blond sighed, pulling back. He reached down, picking up Dorian's bag, taking the mage's hand in his own.  
“It did” Dorian agreed, the pair beginning the trek to the airport exit, “such a horrendous thing, how time crawls so slowly when we're looking forward to something” he smiled wickedly, “if only I'd had a way to _magically_ jump into the future.”  
Cullen snorted, “yes, that would be something. If only there were someone clever and handsome enough to invent it.”  
“Ah, but there already i-”  
“Alas” Cullen interrupted, shooting Dorian a sly smirk, “there's no one who fits the bill. I guess we'll have to go without.”  
Cullen chanced a look at Dorian, kissing away his pout with a laugh, “you're far too easy to rile up, sweetheart.”  
“Yes, well” Dorian's cheeks were ever so slightly flushed, “shut up. This is an awful 'welcome home' I'll have you know.”  
“Huh, is that so?” Cullen suddenly stopped in his tracks, pulling Dorian so he was pressed up to his chest. Before Dorian could say whatever indignant line he had prepared, Cullen had both hands on the side of his face, bending him just a little beneath him as he pressed a deep kiss to the mage's lips. Dorian squawked a little in surprise, but he seemed to recover, as Cullen felt his boyfriend's hands slither up into his hair, fingers entwining with his curls.  
“I suppose” Cullen began breathlessly, when they finally parted, “I'll just have to give you a proper welcome when we get back to yours” he winked, “if you know what I mean.”  
Dorian huffed a laugh, quickly fixing his moustache, “I did know what you meant, even before that ridiculous wink, but, yes” he leaned up, and Cullen grinned as he felt a soft kiss being brushed to his throat, “a proper welcome is exactly what I need.”

***

Though Dorian constantly said how crappy his apartment was, it was easy to see how relieved he was as he opened the door. Cullen followed the mage inside, lugging Dorian's suitcase behind him after having refused to let the man carry it himself.  
Once inside, he found Dorian face down on the couch, arms and legs sprawled in an ungainly manner over the back of the couch and on the floor. Cullen chuckled, reaching down to mess Dorian's hair up, quickly running off towards the hallway before the mage could retaliate. But his good mood couldn't last. Cullen almost collapsed by the time he reached Dorian's bedroom. He set the suitcase down, lowering himself onto the floor beside it. Now that he was alone, he let himself feel the pain that he was suppressing, stabs and aches that had been easier to ignore when he had been so excited to see Dorian. He grunted, pulling his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself as he tried to control the dry heaves that made his stomach convulse.  
He sat there for a few minutes, completely absorbed in pain and self-pity, and the overbearing need for lyrium. But, eventually, he managed to force it down again, gather himself just a little. Taking a few deep breaths, he pulled himself up, taking care not to upset his stomach again. When he was upright, he quickly glanced in Dorian's mirror, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead, and went to join his boyfriend.  
He found Dorian in the kitchen, laughing at a very guilty looking Sera and Tamaan, who, along with the kitchen, were caked with batter and flour.  
“What's going on here?” he laughed, reaching for the recipe book on the counter.  
Sera smacked his hand away with her wooden spoon, sniggering wickedly, only to pout when Taaman snatched the utensil from her.  
“We're making cookies” the qunari explained, her eyes trailing over the mess she and Sera had made, “sort of.”  
“Yea!” the elf cried, reaching for the spoon, “and there's no boys allowed so frigg off!”  
Dorian arched his eyebrows, “oh? You're going to kick me out of my own kitchen? And how do you plan to do that?”  
Cullen's eyes widened, and he quickly yanked Dorian out of the way as Sera lobbed a handful of cookie dough at his hair. The dough stuck to the wall, dripping menacingly right were Dorian had been.  
Sera cackled, and both Cullen and Taaman fought to hide their laughter. Dorian looked far less amused, though Cullen could see the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort to suppress his smile.  
“Come on, you” Cullen murmured, winding his arm around Dorian's waist, pretending not to see the rude gesture the mage aimed at Sera.  
Once a safe distance from the kitchen, the pair sprawled on the couch, a tangle of limbs. Dorian turned on a movie- some cheap slasher- and flicked his hand, the lights turning out; Cullen was glad that the normal prickle of fear that came with magic was absent.  
In the darkness, Cullen closed his eyes. He pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging them in an attempt to ease the headache that had hounded him all day.  
“Withdrawal?”  
He opened his eyes to see Dorian looking over at him, features laced with concern, a tentative hand reached out towards him. Cullen hesitated for a moment, but he forced himself to put his reservations aside. If Dorian wanted to help, that was his choice.  
“Yeah.”  
Dorian nodded, reaching out and pulling Cullen down onto his lap. Cullen let himself become pliant, relaxing under Dorian's gentle touch. He let his eyes slide closed once more as Dorian's hands began to card through his hair, the barest touch of fingertips stroking his scalp. The blond couldn't hold back his sigh of relief as he felt Dorian summon his magic, tendrils of coolness feeling like they were permeating Cullen's skull.  
The affection was overwhelming, creating a warmth that grew in Cullen's stomach and chest, even as Dorian's cool fingers began to sweep over his joints, easing the inflamed muscles. Never had someone been so easy to accept him. So happy to be with him and so quick to help. Never had anyone been so happy to see him.  
Never had there been anyone like Dorian.  
Cullen sat up quickly, ignoring Dorian's faint sound of protest. He turned, looking the man in his stormy grey eyes, willing himself to do it. He mustn’t think about it, lest he overthink it.  
“Cullen? Are you okay?”  
He took a deep breath, the words bubbling up inside him.  
“Dorian” he began, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, “I love you.”  
The mage's jaw dropped, his eyes wide. Cullen felt his elation quickly become overcome by panic. _I fucked up_ he thought, _I fucked up he doesn't feel the same I-_ his thoughts were silenced as he was pulled into Dorian's arms. The hug was tight, warm, and Cullen almost thought he could hear Dorian sniffling; when they parted, the mage's eyes were just a little glassy.  
“I- I'm not- kaffas” his voice was strained, “I don't kn-”  
“Hey” Cullen murmured, cutting him off, “it's okay. I don't expect you to say it back. I just… I needed to tell you.”  
He ignored the slight prick of hurt as Dorian nodded. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the mage's lips. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed, hands entwined. For the sheer feeling of finally being able to say it, Cullen whispered again, “I love you, Dorian.”  
In that moment, he knew there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Idea of You- Nine Inch Nails


	19. Broken Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian discuss things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? I managed to turn out another chapter on time?? 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short, the next one is going to be quite a bit longer, hopefully. I hope you all enjoy it, and I've been loving reading the comments from everyone :)
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon!

Dorian held two boxes of cereal up, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinised them, deciding.  
“Do we want muesli? Or Nuggles?” he asked Bull, shaking the boxes at him.  
The Qunari shrugged, pushing his laden trolley along the grocery store aisle. Dorian huffed, stalking towards him, dropping both boxes into the cart. The pair walked slowly, stopping every now and then to pick things up.  
“I might cook dinner tonight” Dorian announced, browsing the shelves as they continued along, “are you going to be home?”  
Bull didn't even look at him, “nope.”  
“Ah” Dorian sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets, “how are you and Cassandra?”  
“Good.”  
The mage's eye twitched, “I'm glad.”  
Bull didn't respond, instead pausing to look over some pasta, which seemed to interest him far more than anything had to say. Dorian, however, refused to let his friend's- he seemed to be using the term loosely these days- impudence from deterring him.  
“Cullen and I have been going well” he stated, pulling some jars of sauce off a shelf and chucking them into the trolley, “it's been almost six months, you know.” He was met with silence, awkward and tense, but he pushed on, “we've had our issues, but I actually think we may last.”  
He looked up, realising Bull was now quite a way down the aisle. He scowled, doing a half-jog to catch up, standing in front of the trolley. Bull rolled his eye, beginning to steer the trolley around, but Dorian grabbed the end, holding it tight.  
“He said he loves me, you know” he said loudly, looking Bull directly in his one eye, “just last night.” Dorian couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, “and, to be honest, I think I may love him too.”  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
“Because we're friends?” Dorian spluttered, brow furrowed in confusion.  
The Iron Bull coughed a laugh, leaning down on the cart, “yeah, sure seems like it lately.”  
Dorian scowled, “and whose fault is that, pray tell? If I remember correctly _you're_ the one who has been ignoring _me_.”  
Bull shrugged, “you're not gonna listen to me, why should I listen to you?”  
“This isn't like you, Bull.”  
The Qunari arched an eyebrow, his gaze slowly sliding away from Dorian as he began to push the trolley down the aisle.  
“No” Dorian flicked his hand, freezing the trolley wheels to the linoleum floor. Bull's head whipped around, his eye wide.  
“Dorian, what the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, “if someone sees-”  
“You basically told me to break up with Cullen” Dorian growled, cutting Bull off, “you are- or were, rather- my friend. I would have thought you'd have supported me.”  
Bull crossed his arms over his chest, “support you while you chase around some deadbeat like a damn mabari?”  
“Don't call hi-”  
“Don't call him a deadbeat?” Bull asked, incredulous, “what else do I call him, huh? Not like he's run out on you. Twice.” He shook his head, “you don't get it.”  
Dorian scoffed, raising his eyebrows, “oh? And what exactly is it that I don't 'get'?”  
“That he's fucked in the head. You're a Tevinter mage, and whatever shit he says, that's all he sees.” He sighed, eyes full of pity as he looked at Dorian, “you're his chance to atone. And that's all you are to him. He says he loves you. Thinks he loves you, but man, I really don't think he has a clue what love is.”  
Dorian felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He angrily wiped away the tear that had snuck onto his cheek with the heel of his hand.  
“That's bullshit” he snapped, “and you know it.”  
“Do I?”  
The mage grimaced, “you should. Even if you don't you should realise what an awful, fucked up thing that is to say.”  
Bull heaved a sigh, leaning down on the handrail of the trolley, rubbing his forehead, “someone's gotta tell you the truth, Dor.”  
“You know” Dorian laughed bitterly, “I actually thought that I had found a friend here. Someone whom I could trust to be _happy_ for me. I thought that maybe you wouldn't shit all over my happiness.”  
Bull pushed back off the cart, sending it rolling down the aisle, “sorry I'm not _happy_ to watch you throw your damn life away. Lotta shit I can put up with. This self-destructive shit? I can't put up with that. Not if you're not willing to let me help.”  
“And I suppose that you helping would require me dumping my 'junkie boyfriend' would it not?”  
Bull just shrugged.  
“Mm” Dorian chewed on his lip, nodding, “I guess I won't be getting your help, then.”  
Bull scowled, “you're really going to choose him?”  
Dorian glared up at the Qunari, “I always will.” He picked up another jar of sauce, all but throwing it into the trolley.  
“Huh” Bull jerked his chin up, “suit yourself.”  
Before Dorian could say anything, Bull turned on his heel, striding away. The mage just watched as his friend- _room mate,_ he corrected himself- disappeared out of sight.   
“Kaffas!” he cried, kicking his trolley, “vishante fucking venhedis shitting FUCK!”. He looked up, making eye contact with a blonde elf, who was staring at him wide eyed from the end of the aisle, “what the fuck are you looking at?” She squeaked in shock, skittering away.  
Dorian groaned, rubbing his eyes, hissing in frustration as he realised he'd smeared his eyeliner all over the bridge of his nose. He grabbed the trolley from where it had rolled into the aisle, trying to focus on the groceries; he tried to keep going without throwing shit around.  


***  


Dorian sat on the stairs to his building, surrounded by plastic bags full of groceries. He leaned against the railing, knees tucked against his chest, willing himself to go up to his apartment. He wiped at his eyes, trying to clean off the smudged black eyeliner.   
Everything was a mess. As much as he hated to admit it, Bull did have somewhat of a point; twisted though it was. Cullen had walked out, twice now. He'd promised not to do it again, but he'd said the exact same the first time, too. What was to say he wouldn't do it again? Dorian let his head fall into his hands.  
He had no idea what he was doing. He was fairly sure he loved Cullen. And now he knew the Ferelden loved him, too; but being with him was so difficult. He tried not to let it show, but dealing with Cullen's withdrawals was so draining. Trying to keep him cool when he had fevers. Cleaning up after he vomited from the pain. Not being able to hold him through it because of how much his body hurt. He wished he could heal, could help, but all he knew was one spell, and all that was good for was soothing headaches. Was it worth it?  
Before Dorian could even properly ask himself, he had answered the question. Yes. It was worth it. Cullen was the best man he had ever met. He was kind, and loving, and he so badly wanted to be better. He did everything he could for Dorian, which was more than Dorian could say about almost anyone else in his life. He wanted to be with Cullen.   
_To the Void with Bull_ , Dorian thought. If he was going to be narrow minded, he could do it without Dorian. The Qunari claimed to always look out for the 'little guy', as he liked to call it, but when actually confronted with it, he turned tail and ran. His Ben-Hassarath training had made him cold. Dorian couldn't deny that the loss of the first friend he made in Ferelden hurt, maybe it was for the better. He would do well to cut such judgemental people out.  
If it was a choice between Cullen and Bull, he would choose Cullen every time.  
Dorian stood up suddenly, sending bags rolling down the stairs. He pulled out his phone, starting a new message:  
  
_  
From:_ _0418256729_  
To: Bull  
  
food is on stairs. U can get it as u didnt help pay or bring them here. bye  
  
3:46PM  
  
He stuffed his phone into his pocket, grinning. He whistled as he began to walk down the street, ignoring the pinging of incoming messages on his phone. Dorian didn't give a shit what Bull had to say; didn't have the patience to listen to another lecture, or be berated.   
He just wanted to get to Cullen's, fall into the man's arms, and talk about how shitty his day had been. And maybe have some good sex to make up for it. He just hoped there wasn't too long a wait on trains to Amaranthine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken Promise- Placebo


	20. Without You I'm Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen fixes up his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a long(ish) chapter! We're starting the downward run towards the end of this fic, now that we're over the halfway point, and I hope you guys are still enjoying it!  
> I've gone back over some of the past chapters to try and fix up some of the discrepancies and inconsistencies, so hopefully it's a little more solid now.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always I love hearing feedback!

Cullen took a drag of his cigarette, ignoring the strange looks he was getting for standing on the street in his pyjamas, looking up at his house. 'Haven', which he had bought with the last of his Templar retirement pension, had not exactly lived up to its name when he's first bought it. However, in the two years since Kirkwall, Cullen had let it fall into such a state of disrepair that the term “house” had to be used very loosely.   
He sighed, he needed to do something about his place. It looked like a crack den, and Cullen imagined that was all that Dorian could see when he came over, especially considering the circumstances in which he'd first come over. Every time the mage stepped through the door Cullen felt so ashamed, and though he knew Dorian wouldn't, he felt as if he was being judged. He walked back towards the front door, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray on his doorstep- Dorian had demanded that he start smoking outside- as he went back inside.  
Once out of the morning chill, Cullen surveyed his front room glumly. He couldn't imagine what Dorian had thought when he'd walked through his house for the first time. Cullen cringed as he stared at a hole in the wall, remembering how many pins he'd had to get in his knuckles after he'd punched it; even just thinking about it sent a ghost of pain through his hand. The hole was a physical reminder of who he had been when he returned from Kirkwall. It needed to go.  


***  


After a long trip to Rainier's Hardware, and a gratuitous tip to his taxi driver, Cullen lugged his newly bought timber and supplies into his house. He let it all drop to the ground with a loud bang, laughing a little bit when he startled himself with the noise. He wandered back into his front room, turning his gaze to the sporadic pieces of the floral wallpaper which had once covered the walls. After a moment's pause Cullen reached forwards, grabbing one of the scraps of peeling wallpaper, and he ripped it off. He flung it onto the ground, snatching the next piece, tearing it away from the dry wall.   
Once the walls were bare he went and retrieved his new saw, lodging it firmly into the hole he'd punched, beginning to hack away. He coughed and spluttered at the cloud of dust that erupted from his efforts, but he pushed on.  
After a hole had been cut, and new board had been fixed over it, Cullen stepped back. He surveyed his handiwork with a little spark of pride in his chest. His patch up was sloppy- he wasn't exactly the handyman he had been in his youth- but it served its purpose. The hole was gone, and with it it took just a fragment of the man he'd been before with it. Cullen felt lighter for it.   
Now for the rest of the house.

  
***  


Cullen grabbed yet another box from the slowly dwindling pile that filled his 'study'. He opened it, recoiling at the sight and smell of mouldy clothes. Grimacing, he kicked the box into his hall, to join the rest with unsalvageable contents.   
“Maker curse me for leaving the fucking window open” he grumbled, slamming closed the offending window that he'd forgotten he'd left wide open months before. He supposed he was just lucky that no one saw anything of value in what would be more aptly described as his junk room.   
Cullen rested against his newly uncovered desk, trying to remind himself that he had made _some_ progress by the fact that he could see the floor in some spaces. And that was when he heard the song.   
The sweet, twisting melody was faint, but definitely there, making Cullen's stomach knot and flip. He gasped, turning and wrenching open the desk drawer and there, nestled next to a few old bills and letters, was small bag of glowing blue pills.   
Cullen snatched up the bag of lyrium, goose bumps rising on his arms. His secret stash. Cullen had no memory of putting it there, meaning he'd probably squirreled it away when he'd been high, for him to find right then.   
He stared at it, licking his lips to try and bring moisture back to his suddenly dry mouth. He groaned, his body aching for the lyrium. Cullen tentatively raised his free hand, pulling open the little plastic bag. He could almost taste it, imagining how it would feel to have it back in him, to have his confidence back, to not feel so hollow all the time.  
Cullen was dragged harshly back to reality by the sound of his front door closing. He threw the bag back into the drawer, slamming it shut. He hastily wiped the sweat from his forehead before leaving the study to investigate.  
He found Dorian standing in his lounge room/ bed room, hands in his pockets, looking at the pile of lumber and tools with bemusement. He looked up as Cullen came in, offering him a smile.  
“Doing a little home improvement, are we?”  
Cullen forced himself to return the smile, though it came out more like a grimace, unable to shake the thought of lyrium being so close.   
“Y-yes. I decided that this place has been a wreck for too long.”  
“Understandably” Dorian teased, striding over, “now, are you going to greet me properly? Or must I do that myself?”

Cullen reached out, dragging Dorian into a tight hug. He pressed his face into the crook of the mage's neck, the smell of his cologne was sharp and rich, chasing the cloying sweetness of the lyrium away. Cullen breathed in the familiar scent deeply, trying to ground himself. He pulled back a little when he felt Dorian's laugh rumble in his chest.  
“I meant a kiss, you know” he chuckled, tracing a hand over Cullen's stubbly cheek, “but I'll let it slide.”  
Cullen ducked his head, blood rushing to his cheeks, “oh. I'm sorry.”  
“Hey” he felt Dorian's fingers under his chin, and he lifted his eyes to meet the mage's, “what's wrong, Amatus? You seem… off.”  
“I'm fine” Cullen replied, a little too quickly, “just… just withdrawals” he amended, noticing Dorian's look of disbelief.  
The mage raised his hand, carding it gently through the ex-Templar's hair, “would you like me to…?”  
Cullen shook his head almost violently, “no. I want to get this done.”  
Dorian grimaced, but withdrew his hand. Cullen could see the concern in his stormy eyes, tugging at the guilt that had begun to grow in the pit of his stomach. He said nothing, waiting, hands clenched in the pockets of his jeans.  
“Alright” Dorian sighed finally, “but I'm staying here to help; I'll not have you working yourself to death whilst I lounge about at home.”  
Cullen finally felt a real smile curl his lips, “thank you.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dorian's full lips, “it's greatly appreciated.”  
Dorian grinned, giving Cullen a kiss on the cheek before striding away. Cullen could only watch, his eyes trained on the mage's slender form, still standing there even after the other man had disappeared around the corner.  
“Ah! You were in the study?”   
Cullen felt his heart in his throat, his mind immediately going to the bag of lyrium, still tucked in the drawer. He rushed forwards, panic rising when he saw Dorian in the study, beginning to pick through the boxes.  
The Tevinter looked up, smiling over at him, “I had to assume when I saw all of the rubbish outside.”  
Cullen nodded, swallowing hard, “uh huh.” He wandered over to the desk, trying to be nonchalant, even as the song began to whisper to him. He shifted around a couple of boxes, watching Dorian out of the corner of his eye. As soon as the mage had turned his back Cullen slid the drawer open, grabbing the little plastic bag and shoving it into his pocket. The lyrium was maddeningly warm against his thigh, and he could feel the tendrils of magic penetrating his skin, wrapping itself around his bones.  
“I'm going to the bathroom” he told Dorian, the words coming out in a jumbled rush. Cullen didn't wait for a response before leaving the room, almost tripping over the boxes in his haste.  
Once in the bathroom, Cullen locked the door behind him. He yanked the bag of lyrium out of his pocket, throwing it down onto the sink, his eyes immediately drawn to the pulsating blue glow. He tried to think, but his head was a cacophony of voices, his own and others, all chanting at him _take it. You want it. You need it. Take it._   
“Don't do it” he hissed at himself, still unable to tear his eyes from the pills. He felt as if the song was drilling its way into his head, making it impossible to think. He pulled at the bag, opening it with a quiet pop. Cullen felt as if the saccharine scent permeated every inch of the bathroom. He gasped, trying to breathe in untainted air, but all he could taste was the lyrium, making his throat tingle and his stomach ache.   
With shaking hands, Cullen reached into the bag, grabbing a pill, clenching it in his fist. It was like holding a flame, heat soaking through his hand. The chanting in his head grew louder, each voice screaming at him to take it. Craving burnt fiercely in his chest, and Cullen could feel the last of his resolve slipping from his grasp.   
“Have you drowned in there, Amatus?”  
Dorian's velvety voice broke into Cullen's trance, pulling him back from the brink. In a moment of perfect clarity, Cullen hurled the pill he was holding into the toilet bowl, sweeping the bag in after it. He flushed the toilet before he could stop himself, the song fading as the lyrium disappeared into the pipes.  
Cullen almost collapsed against the sink, leaning heavily onto his forearms. He felt a mixture of longing and regret, making his stomach twist nauseatingly. However, most prominent in his head was the feeling of triumph. Taking a few deep breaths, Cullen pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair in an effort to tame it. Having gathered himself he turned, unlocking the bathroom door.  
He found Dorian still in the study, intent on a box he had put onto the desk. Cullen strode over to him, turning the mage and taking his face in his still shaking hands. Before Dorian could say anything, Cullen captured the man's lips in a hard, desperate kiss.  
He sensed a question in the hesitant way Dorian responded, but before he could pull away the mage melted into the embrace. When they parted, he couldn't miss the way that concern had returned to Dorian's features.  
“Are you okay?” the mage asked him gently.  
“I am” Cullen replied honestly, pride blooming in his chest. He leaned down, kissing Dorian softly, smiling against the other man's lips.  
Reluctantly, he pulled back, brushing a last kiss to Dorian's forehead before he turned back to the task at hand. It seemed that Dorian was a little confused, and Cullen chuckled quietly to himself when it took the mage a moment to get back to work. He couldn't remember feeling so accomplished, so elated. It was intoxicating.  
“How was your day?” he asked Dorian, who was elbow deep in a box of books. He didn't expect the harsh bark he received in reply.  
“I don't imagine” Dorian began, eyes firmly locked on his task, “that Bull and I shall be calling each other 'friend' for some time, I'll tell you that much.”  
Cullen looked up, frowning, “what happened?”  
Dorian waved him away, still refusing to look at him. Cullen's good mood leaked out of him, the realisation that he was most likely the cause of the argument taking hold of him.  
“I'm sorry” he murmured.  
Dorian sighed, finally looking at the Ferelden, moustache seeming to droop with the downturn of his mouth. “Don't apologise” he said sadly, “I still have you, which is far more than I can say for Bull.” He laughed, “and I still have Felix. Well, for as long as he is still around, that is.”  
Cullen grimaced, reaching out for the mage. Dorian leaned into his arms, and Cullen held the man tight, pressing a kiss to his coiffed hair.   
“I'll always be here” he whispered, running his fingers over Dorian's back, “for as long as you'll have me.”  
“Don't get your hopes up” Dorian teased, his voice just a little thick, “I've no plans to let you go.”  
Cullen nodded, not letting his lips leave Dorian's hair, “good. I wouldn't want to.”  


***  


A few hours later the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. Cullen and Dorian had to retreat from the study, the light bulb had long since blown, and the sunlight was fading quickly. They put the few remaining boxes in a neat stack against the wall, and Cullen made sure to shut the window tight. With the overflowing rubbish bags put out, and the hardware supplies dragged into the study, the two men collapsed onto Cullen's flimsy sofa bed.   
“We did a good job” Cullen panted, turning to nuzzle Dorian's throat, “thank you.”  
Dorian hummed happily, “this calls for wine.”  
The Ferelden laughed, propping himself up on his elbow, “you brought wine?”  
“I've had a terrible day” Dorian harrumphed, “allow me to marinate for a couple of hours.”  
Cullen smiled, trying to hide the worry prickling over his skin, “go ahead.”  
The Tevinter jumped up, disappearing into the front room before he came bouncing back, three bottles of red wine clanging in his hands. Cullen pushed himself up off the couch, following Dorian into the kitchen.  
“Three's overkill, don't you think, love?” he joked, wrapping his arms around the mage's waist. Dorian just poked his tongue out, spinning around, full glasses of wine in his hands.  
“I never knew I could be so handy” he mused, pressing a glass into Cullen's chest.  
Cullen chuckled, taking a sip of the rich wine, “I really don't think organising counts as 'handiness'”.  
Dorian pouted, “just let me have this one.”  
The Ferelden rolled his eyes, “fine. Though I still have a lot left to do.”  
“ _We_ still have a lot to do” Dorian corrected.  
“Really?”  
The mage nodded, smiling, “of course, darling. You can't be expected to fix up this…”  
“You can say shit hole” Cullen chuckled.  
“Mess” Dorian pursed his lips, “I was _going_ to say mess. We made a mess and it would be rude of me to leave it all to you.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “whatever you say.” He raised his glass to his lips, pausing before taking a sip, “now that I think about it, there's heaps to do in the kitchen, too” he groaned, “this is such a big job.”  
“And we shall fix it up together” Dorian announced.  
Cullen grinned, “good.” A thought suddenly ran through his head, making warmth rush to his cheeks. He lowered his gaze, taking a deep breath. “Maybe” he began, voice small, honey eyes on the floor, “when it's all fixed up you could… you could move in.”  
“What?”  
“You wouldn't have to!” Cullen babbled, back-pedalling, “just if you wanted to. I don't know. It's stupid. Forget I said it.”  
He felt a hand rest on his arm, “I'd love to, Amatus.”  
The Ferelden looked up, slowly meeting Dorian's eyes, “you mean it?”  
“Mhm”.  
Cullen let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in, smiling in relief. But Dorian didn't meet his smile, his eyes darting furtively around the kitchen. Cullen's brow furrowed in concern, watching Dorian chew his lip.  
“And...” Dorian sighed, fiddling with his rings, “I love you.”

Cullen's heart soared, his face splitting into a wide grin; he beamed down at Dorian. He wrapped his arms around the mage, crushing him to his chest. “I love you too” he said fiercely, “I love you so much.”  
“I don't care what anyone says” Dorian mumbled, voice muffled against Cullen, “I'll always choose you.”

“You'll always be my first choice, too” Cullen assured him.  
  
Dorian leaned back suddenly, taking a huge gulp of wine. “Please” he gasped, swallowing, “let's get this place finished already. I desperately want to move out of my crappy apartment.”  
The Ferelden raised his eyebrows, “into my crappy house?”  
“Exactly.”

Cullen laughed into his wine, taking a long drink. “I'll have to buy a new bed” he grumbled half-heartedly, “mine isn't exactly built for two.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “I don't think that what you have constitutes as a bed, but good point.”  
“Rude” Cullen teased, leaning in to kiss Dorian. He giggled against the mage's lips, dipping him back as he deepened the kiss. He jumped when he felt Dorian's hands suddenly smack his arse, squeezing. “What was that for?” Cullen asked, laughing.  
“Buy that bed quickly, Amatus” Dorian demanded, wrapping his arms around Cullen's neck, “because I have so many ideas on how to break it in.”  
“Oh?” Cullen picked Dorian up, “well then, let's go practise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without You I'm Nothing- Placebo


	21. Dead Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short- the next one will be longer
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I always love reading comments and kudos gives me life ^-^

Six Months Later

 

Dorian could feel too much. For the past few days he'd just felt numb, and now every emotion hit him with an unforgiving sharpness. He fiddled with his black suit, trying to keep his eyes from the coffin.  
Felix's coffin.  
Tears streamed relentlessly down Dorian's cheeks as he listened to Gereon's eulogy, each word so raw with sadness that it only made Dorian cry harder. His best friend was gone, Felix's spirit lost in the Fade. His body- which Dorian had refused to see at the viewing- now an empty shell; one which he had been trapped in, which had held him as he suffered for the last few months of his short life. Dorian supposed that he should feel happy that Felix was now free of the pain of mortality, but in reality, all he could feel was a hollow ache.  
He desperately wanted to hold Cullen's hand, the man's upturned palm inches from his fingers. However, even in times such as these, the societal rules of Tevinter still stood. So, Dorian sat there, eyes focused on Cullen's hand, shrinking further into himself as each of Gereon's words pierced him deeper.  
When Gereon introduced him, Dorian stood up slowly. He did his best to walk with dignity, even as his tears refused to let up. He approached the coffin, offering Gereon a solemn nod as the man stepped back, allowing for Dorian to step up to the lectern.  
“Felix was a great man” he began, voice thick with emotion, “he was my best friend for twenty years, and in that time I've found no one better than he.” Dorian paused, taking a deep breath, “Felix was always there for me, no matter how much distance separated us, nor how long it had been since we last spoke. If I needed a friend, he was always there, as I hope I was for him.  
It was because of Felix, and his father, that I was able to escape an… that I was able to move into a more positive environment, and it was because of them that I was able to flourish. I will always be in their debt.”  
Dorian felt tears begin to trickle down his cheeks again. His eyes searched the room desperately, and he found just a little strength when they locked with Cullen's, “Felix was a better man that I. Now that he can't hear it, I can finally admit it” there was a smattering of quiet laughter, “he was a ridiculously talented mage, and one of the brightest people I have ever met. His absence will be felt by everyone, and the world is just a little darker with him gone.”  
Dorian clapped his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that shuddered through him. He swallowed it, unable to stop the tears that leaked out of his eyes. He regained some semblance of his composure, clearing his throat.  
“I will miss Felix, so so much” he tried again, voice wavering, nervously running his hand over his moustache, “as will we all.” Dorian turned, placing a hand on the coffin, refusing to lift his eyes. He didn't want to see his friend's face, not like that. “I love you, Felix” he murmured, willing for his friend to hear, “and I hope to see you again someday in the Fade.”  
Dorian offered Gereon a sad smile as he passed him again, feeling his calm slipping as he strode back to his seat. He sat down next to Cullen, clenching his fists in his lap, trying to control the way his body shook. The small comfort he had was Cullen tracing his index finger over his thigh; the most he could do covertly.  
Somewhere in the mess of thoughts that churned sluggishly in Dorian's head, he cursed his homeland.

***

The wake felt surreal. Dorian sat alone with Cullen, sipping his water, desperately wanting to leave. It was too much. The crying, the reminiscing, the laughter. There were giant photos of Felix, surrounded by ridiculous wreaths of flowers. All Dorian could think about was how bad Felix's hayfever was. Had been, he corrected himself.  
Dorian felt like he had cried himself out, his eyes sore and dry. More than anything, he just wanted a drink. Anything to dull his senses. The feeling was only intensified when the room began to make toasts to Felix's life, glasses chinking. The wine sat there on the table; deep, rich, inviting. He groaned, he wouldn't let the last few months be in vain. Dorian wasn't sure he could have exercised the same restraint if his parents had been there.  
“Are you alright?” Cullen whispered, hand ghosting over his thigh.  
Dorian turned, grimacing at his boyfriend.  
Cullen's eyes went wide, and Dorian could see the blush blooming in his cheeks. “Right” the Ferelden mumbled, “stupid question.”  
Dorian opened his mouth to respond when he heard someone approach. He looked up, realising Livia was standing at their table.  
“I'll go get some food” Cullen murmured, standing and walking off. Livia took Cullen's empty seat, adjusting the black scarf which held back her thick, dark hair. Dorian could see from the flush in her olive skin that she'd been crying. He imagined he looked much the same.  
“Thank you” she breathed finally, her voice rough and hoarse, “for what you said at the funeral. Felix was...” she gasped, smiling as her eyes began to tear up, “he was everything to me. And I can see he meant the same to you.”  
Dorian took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly, “I'll always be glad that he had you, my dear. It was plain to see that that man loved you endlessly.”  
Livia smiled, leaning forwards and brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, “we both lost a wonderful friend. And we will never forget him.” With that, she stood, placing a hand on Dorian's shoulder before drifting back into the crowd.  
Dorian bit his lip, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to break free. He took a deep breath, pushing himself up from the table and moving into the throng of mourners. He gently pushed past a pair of magisters, finally finding Gereon standing near the door, alone. When the old man saw him, the pained smile that graced his face made Dorian ache.  
“I'm glad you made it” Gereon murmured, gazing over at the photos of Felix, “I think he would have been sad had you not come.”  
Dorian nodded, “I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”  
The old man grimaced, wringing his hands, “I'll always miss him. Not a day goes by that I don't think of his mother.” He sighed, hanging his head, “I suppose his portrait shall join hers now. At least they are together in the Fade.”  
Dorian reached forwards, gently squeezing Gereon's bicep, “we'll see them again, someday.”  
“I hope so”.  
Dorian reached forwards, pulling Gereon into a tight hug. Damn society for just a moment. When they parted Gereon gave him a clap on the shoulder, the sadness in his hazel eyes making him look old beyond his years. Dorian gave him a final smile before he wandered off the find Cullen.  
He found the Ferelden outside, trying to make his mostly burnt cigarette last a little longer. He walked over to him, gently putting his hand on Cullen's elbow.  
“Come” he murmured, “let's go.”  
Cullen nodded, stamping his cigarette out on the ground, “are you sure you're ready?”  
“I am” Dorian affirmed. As Cullen walked ahead to wave down a cab, Dorian turned back to the Alexius manor. He had built so many memories in its cavernous halls, and now memories were all he had left of his best friend.  
“Viate benefaria” he breathed, before following Cullen into the night.

***

Once the door to the hotel room closed, Dorian lost all restraint. His calm facade shattered into a million pieces as deep, heaving sobs racked up from inside him, making him shiver, tears pouring over his cheeks. Cullen helped him onto one of the single beds, pulling the mage up to his chest.  
Dorian howled, face mashed against Cullen, body jerking as he let everything out. He found no solace in the arms around him. Nothing could comfort him when it felt like every part of him had been ripped out, leaving nothing but a hollow, jagged hole inside. He could vaguely hear Cullen trying to soothe him, could feel the man's hand ghost over his hair, over his back. It meant nothing. Not when Felix, his peer, his friend, his _brother,_ was gone. No time magic could reverse the Blight. No necromancy could truly pull his spirit from the Fade.  
He was just gone.  
Some time later- minutes, hours or days, Dorian couldn't tell- the mage had cried himself out. His eyes were sore and dry, his lips puffy and his skin red. He just leant into Cullen's embrace, limp and silent, eyes closed as the Ferelden rocked him back and forth gently, never ceasing his gentle ministrations. It was like this, still dressed in his funeral suit, makeup smeared down his cheeks and on Cullen's shirt, that Dorian finally let himself slip into a deep, dreamless sleep where he could finally be numb; just for a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead Hearts- Harley Poe


	22. Sleeping With Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian reminisces with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter was meant to be fluff but it ended up totally getting away from me. So, have this angsty mess. Just a warning, this chapter does feature mentions of abuse, as there are details of the blood magic ritual Halward tried to use.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, as I'm loving writing this fic for all of you :) I love to hear feedback! Honestly, your comments give me life and the motivation to keep going.
> 
> As always this chapter is unbeta'd, as has this whole fic been, so I'm sorry for any mistakes and if there are any glaring ones, feel free to point them out and I'll fix them!
> 
> BTW, if any of you would like to directly message me, I have a tumblr! It's https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batty-for-booty

Cullen shrugged out of his hoodie, hanging it up beside his front door. He made sure to leave his carton of cigarettes in the pocket, trying to ignore his cravings; he'd promised Dorian that he'd cut down, and he'd already had three that day. Work always made him need a smoke.  
He wandered further into the house, noticing that it was still in the same state he'd left it that morning. Even the pancakes that he'd cooked for Dorian still sat on the counter, untouched. He pursed his lips, scraping the plate into the bin.  
“Dorian?” he called, putting the plate into the sink, “are you ok?”  
Cullen heard nothing in response, and immediately he felt a ripple of panic. He darted into the lounge room, finding it empty. He rushed into the bedroom, finding Dorian curled up in bed. Cullen's relief faded into sadness at the sound of Dorian's sniffling. He went over to the bed, sitting down beside the mage, brushing a hand through Dorian's messy hair.  
“I'm sorry, love” Cullen murmured. He wanted to say more, but he wasn't sure what else he could offer other than more meaningless platitudes.  
Dorian rolled over, and Cullen grimaced when he caught sight of the puffy, irritated skin around the mage's eyes, as well as the stream of crumpled tissues that came cascading down with the movement. Dorian didn't say anything, instead he just shuffled closer, pressing his face into Cullen's lap. Cullen sighed, continuing to stroke his hand over Dorian's hair.  
He tugged at the blanket that Dorian was curled up under, smiling when it was snatched off him.  
“How can you be under a blanket?” he teased gently, “it's August.”  
“Because you still haven't re-shingled the roof” Dorian groused, voice cracking a little, “and no amount of tarp can keep out your blighted Ferelden cold.”  
Cullen grimaced, gently retracting his hand from Dorian's hair. The other man sighed.  
“Sorry” he mumbled, “that wasn't meant to come out so harshly.” Dorian pressed his lips together, looking as if he was trying to calm himself, “today has been rather awful.”  
Cullen slid his finger under Dorian's chin, gently turning the mage's face up to him. “Come on” he breathed, “let's get you out of the house.”  
It looked for a second like Dorian wanted to argue, but then he looked over at the almost empty box of tissues. With a huff, he pulled himself out of bed. Cullen smiled, walking over to the wardrobe, beginning to pull out some clothes for Dorian. He stopped when he felt an arm on his, turning to find Dorian reaching for the clothes.  
“Even in my current state, I have far better fashion sense than you, Amatus” he announced, pulling the garments from the Ferelden's grip.  
Cullen just laughed, “whatever you say.”

***

Though Dorian's moustache was still a little down-turned with his pout, Cullen could tell he was enjoying their wandering around the museum. The mage was practically yanking him around for how eager he was to get to the next exhibit, all the time babbling about random facts he knew about each, or listening, enraptured, as Cullen told him what he knew. When they finally made their way to the new exhibit on the Chantry, it was all Cullen could do to keep his arm attached as Dorian tugged him inside.  
The room was full of old artefacts, all dating from Dragon and before. A crumbling statue of Andraste stood in the middle of the room, her unseeing eyes gazing down at each passerby from behind the ropes that cordoned her off. Cullen stared up at her decayed face for a few moments, entirely absorbed by the detail, the centuries old marble chipped away in spots. When he finally pulled himself from her eyes, he realised he'd lost Dorian. He whipped his head around, finding the mage standing on the far side of the room.  
He made his way over, his eyes following Dorian's gaze.  
“I'm surprised they have these on display” Dorian mused, his mouth twisting in distaste at the sight before him. Cullen felt a little uneasy too; the sight of the mage chains, their enchantments long since worn off, reminding him a little too much of the handcuffs he'd had to carry around as a Templar. Though, he told himself, his set had never included a neck brace. That was something at least. He heard Dorian scoff and turned, seeing what the ancient vial of magebane that the Tevinter was glaring at.  
“It's disgusting what they used to do” Cullen murmured, putting his arms around Dorian.  
“What they used to” Dorian echoed quietly.  
The vial looked so innocent; small, yellow, a little blackened with age. Cullen tried to forget the fact that he knew what it looked like when someone took it. Knew how it felt to force it down someone's throat. Could remember the fear in their eyes when they were disconnected from the Fade, torn-  
Cullen was pulled from his spiralling thoughts by Dorian shrugging out of his embrace. He shook the thoughts from his head, following after the other man.  
“Was that your uniform?” Dorian teased.  
Cullen grimaced when he saw the old suit of armour that Dorian was pointing at, the Templar insignia emblazoned on the cuirass. At least he hadn't had to wear _that_.  
The pair finished their circuit around the room with an old skull. It was twisted and deformed, labelled as the skull of a mage whom had become an abomination.  
Dorian laughed, “this placard is bullshit.”  
“What do you mean?” Cullen moved closer to the placard, reading it.  
“Well” Dorian began, voice thick with scorn, “here it says that mages are highly susceptible to demons. Which is all Chantry rubbish.”  
“They're not?”  
Cullen shrunk back a little from the glare Dorian aimed at him.  
“ _No_ ” the mage stated, pursing his lips, “they're not. It isn't that simple. Only young mages are 'susceptible' to demons. Once you get older, you can sense demons, no matter what form they take. We are connected to the Fade, remember?”  
Cullen felt his cheeks redden a little, his hand immediately snapping to the back of his neck, “oh. Right.”  
Dorian smiled, “it isn't a well known fact, don't you worry. Most seem to believe the Chantry version of the truth, and I don't imagine too many mages here in Ferelden are brave enough to oppose them.” He turned back to the skull, “anyway, once you can feel that it's a demon, they really seem to lose any sense of credibility. It's rather more like someone is performing an awful play for you, and they think that they are the most talented actor in the world” he turned back to Cullen, “so really, becoming an abomination is more a matter of choice than anything.”  
Cullen winced, “that just makes it even more terrifying.”  
“I suppose it does, doesn't it?” Dorian hummed thoughtfully, “whatever the case, demons are completely clueless, and mages are far more clever than what they are given credit for. Well. Most mages”. A small smile started to draw up the corners of his mouth, “you know, I do have a story about all that. There was this time that Felix and I-” in an instant, Dorian's face crumpled, knocking the breath out of Cullen.  
Cullen quickly slid his hand into Dorian's, squeezing tight, beginning to walk the man out.  
“Have you eaten?”  
Dorian shook his head, eyes on the floor.  
“Let's go, then” Cullen murmured. He gently put an arm around the mage's waist, leading them both towards the museum's exit.

 

***

The sound of the ocean rushing under Amaranthine Pier was one that had always calmed Cullen. It was the reason he'd bought a house in the seaside village, and since quitting lyrium he'd spent more and more time there, dangling his legs over the water below. He hoped it could be as soothing for Dorian.  
He pushed away the empty fish and chip carton, scooting closer to Dorian. Cullen wound an arm around the mage, smiling when Dorian leaned his head against him.  
“I miss him so much” Dorian murmured, “I wish you could have met him.”  
Cullen frowned, tightening his arm around the mage, “I wish I had too.”  
“You know” Dorian began, turning his head up to face Cullen, “Felix was the one who convinced me to finally tell you how I felt.”  
“Oh?”  
Cullen felt Dorian nodding against him, “I was completely blind to how I felt” he laughed, “sometimes it felt as if Felix knew me far better than I knew myself.”  
Cullen jumped when Dorian suddenly lay down on his lap, but he recovered quickly, beginning to card his fingers through the mage's hair. Though Dorian used to tell him off for touching his hair, now it was like the man melted under his ministrations. They sat in silence for a while, and Cullen just stared out to sea, watching the waves roll slowly towards them, spray washing over his bare feet and rolled up jeans. Cullen thought Dorian had fallen asleep when the mage suddenly spoke.  
“Felix and I were awful children” he mused, eyes still closed.  
“Somehow I have very little trouble believing that” Cullen teased, trailing his fingers along Dorian's side.  
“Hey” Dorian groused, wriggling a little under Cullen's fingers, “I'll have you know we were both exemplary students. Brightest in our year, vastly talented mages. Really, they should have thanked us for being there.”  
Cullen couldn't stifle his laughter, finding it even harder when Dorian smacked his leg.  
“Shut up” Dorian huffed, crossing his arms, though Cullen could see the smile playing on his lips, “we were lovely to teach, just horrid to live with. Though, the opposite could be said for our peers. Most children produced in Tevinter were snivelling little toads whom brown-nosed every adult they could; the only thing they had to offer was that they carried on the family name.”  
“That's a little harsh, don't you think?” Cullen asked, poking Dorian's shoulder.  
Dorian barked a laugh, “no, no. There was this one boy, Erimond, couldn't even light a match.”  
“Ah, I see.”  
Dorian shuffled around, looking up at Cullen from his lap, “ _anyway_ , back to my story, which you so rudely interrupted.”

Cullen scowled, “I didn't-”  
“Ah ah” Dorian tutted, reaching up to poke Cullen's nose, “my turn. So, Felix and I were boarders at a Minrathous mage school. His parents were deeply involved in research, and mine didn't exactly like children enough to have me around all the time. We snuck out of our dorms one night, which, to be perfectly honest, we did quite regularly. Enough that we knew exactly where the Templars would be and when.”  
Cullen raised his eyebrows, “they have Templars in Tevinter?”  
“Of course we do” Dorian chuckled, “though they're more glorified guard dogs than anything. Southern Templars are the scary ones.” He sat up, crossing his legs under himself, “so Felix and I had crept out in the middle of the night, and we decided we wanted to break into the Headmaster's office. The old man was an insufferable twat, so we planned to do what young delinquents are wont to do; write crude notes on his walls.”  
Cullen giggled, pulling Dorian against him, “go on.”  
Dorian hummed, mouth turned up in a wistful smile, “we managed to get into his office, and we decided to go through his drawers. There was this big one, but it was locked. However, as luck would have it, Felix had decided that he should add lockpicking to his repertoire. We broke into the drawer and found it absolutely full of fetish gear.”  
Cullen baulked, “what did you do?”  
A wicked grin stretched wide on Dorian's face, “what any fifteen year old boy does when confronted with something overtly sexual. We paraded around in it, and had every intention to string it all up around the school. What I failed to notice, however, was that we'd made so much noise that we'd woken the Headmaster up. I felt a hand on my shoulder and in my shock I accidentally set his bed robe on fire.”  
The pair broke into a fit of giggles, leaning heavily into each other. Cullen pulled Dorian in tight, brushing his lips to the man's soft hair.  
“You really were a little shit, weren't you?” he teased, wrapping his arms around Dorian's torso, “I never knew I was dating such a bad boy.”  
Dorian snickered, “and here I fell for the virginial Chantry schoolboy.”  
“Hey” Cullen grumbled, “I'm not so innocent.”  
“Oh, I'm well aware, _Commander_ ” Dorian murmured, winking.  
Cullen couldn't help the giggle that escaped him, his cheeks warming. He pulled Dorian into a hard kiss, gently nipping at the man's bottom lip. He leaned back, peppering kisses over the mage's throat, making Dorian squirm and giggle. Cullen pulled Dorian onto his lap, tugging him in close.  
“I'd do well to remember we're in public” Cullen mumbled, grinning as he nuzzled Dorian.  
Dorian scoffed, “you should do no such thing. It's endlessly exciting to imagine my Commander claiming me so publicly.”  
“Stop it” Cullen groaned, playfully shoving Dorian, “save all that for when we get back home.”  
Dorian immediately made to get up, so Cullen quickly tightened his arms around the man's waist, preventing him from moving. Dorian turned, pouting, “What?”  
Cullen smiled at him, “the sun's going to set soon. We should stay and watch it.”  
Dorian made a show of huffing and crossing his arms, but Cullen knew that the man had a secret soft spot for romance, so he paid it no mind. Eventually the mage settled against him, head resting back against Cullen's shoulder. The pair fell into silence, no sound but the gentle whooshing of the ocean and the occasional car passing by on the road behind them.  
Cullen kept his golden eyes on the sky, feeling completely at peace as the sun began to sink lower, beginning to brush the slow waves. The clouds were painted pink and orange, and the purples and blues of the night sky began to chase them closer to the horizon. Cullen felt Dorian sigh against him so he leaned forwards, stomach dropping when he saw the tears beginning to brim in the mage's stormy eyes.  
“Dorian” he gasped, brushing away one of the tears that had managed to escape, “what's wrong?”  
Dorian looked up at him, giving him a sad smile, “if it weren't for Felix, I wouldn't be here to see this. I wouldn't be here with you” he groaned, and the sound made Cullen's heart ache, “Felix saved me. And I will never have the chance to repay him.”  
Cullen furrowed his brow, hugging Dorian tightly to him, “no matter what he did, I'm sure he would have considered you both even.”  
“You don't understand” Dorian insisted, “Felix rescued me” he sighed, leaning forwards. Cullen tentatively placed his hand on the mage's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  
“Continue, if you can” he urged gently.  
Dorian pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, “I know I mentioned what my father did” he began, “but I suppose I never told you all of it.”  
Cullen stayed silent, letting Dorian decide if he wanted to go on or not.  
“I was going to leave” Dorian sighed finally, “I had my bags packed, my plane ticket booked. I was to flee Tevinter and never return. I'd told Felix to meet me at the gates of Pavus manor” he spat the name, “at midnight. It was safest to leave then, because most of the house staff had left by then, and the few guards we had were utterly useless.  
I went to bed early that night. I knew I was going to be up for at least an entire day so I wanted to get at least some semblance of sleep before I left.” Dorian barked a laugh, humourless and sharp, “I'll regret that until my dying day. Maybe if I'd been awake I would have been able to defend myself against the guards whom I had so easily written off as they ripped me from my bed. Maybe if I hadn't been such a fool I would have been able to stop them from forcing magebane down my throat.”  
Cullen gritted his teeth, anger flaring. Dorian went on, seemingly oblivious to the rage that had begun coiling in Cullen's belly, “I don't even know how father found out. Perhaps a guard overheard. Maybe he found my plane ticket” the mage shrugged, the gesture limp and deflated, “It doesn't matter, whatever the case may be. What matters is that next thing that I knew, I was ziptied to a chair and my father was holding a knife.”  
“Please stop” Cullen whimpered, his fury turning slowly into nauseating horror.  
Dorian shook his head, “no. I need to tell you. I haven't… I've never told anyone. Felix was there, there was no point in relaying it to him. And my friendship with Bull and Sera was never close enough. Please, Cullen” he looked up, eyes swimming, imploring, “let me finish.”  
Cullen clenched his fists at his sides, giving a jerky nod.  
Dorian took a shuddering breath, the sound further discomforting Cullen, “Father didn't get far into the ritual, but it was far enough. It was… agonising. It was as if my mind was being torn from my body, stuffing it down where it would be trapped, screaming from the inside.  
I'm forever thankful that Felix and I decided to be so cliché with our meeting time. He must have realised something was amiss when I never turned up. He and Gereon broke in- my father was so arrogant to have windows in his 'secret study'- and rescued me. My father always liked to believe that he was a powerful mage, but he was nothing compared to what Gereon could do.”  
Dorian paused for a moment, though Cullen couldn't tell if it was in awe, or if the mage was just trying to gather himself. Dorian had been letting his tears flow for a while, long since past the point of trying to wipe them away.  
“I wish I could say that I helped” Dorian lamented, gaze a thousand miles away, “but I was hysterical; I was cut off from the Fade and covered in blood. Most of which was not my own. It was all I could do to hold onto Felix as he basically carried me out. A week later I was in Ferelden.”  
Cullen waited for Dorian to go on, but the mage sat there silently, staring out at the ocean. In an instant Cullen was around him, holding Dorian in a crushing embrace. The entire time Dorian had talked, Cullen had fought to keep his imagination at bay. Even then, he could feel waves of anger and nausea rolling over him, all anchored to a deep, hollow sadness. Cullen didn't want to let the mage go ever. In that moment, it was like Dorian was made of the most fragile glass, and Cullen feared that the wrong move or word would cause him to shatter. It was a small saving grace that the mage hadn't reverted to the broken state he had been for the two weeks he had been since Felix's death. Cullen felt like he would break himself if he felt the shuddering of Dorian's sobs against him again.  
“I love you” he whispered fiercely, “and I promise I will never let anything happen to you.”  
Dorian sniffed, “I love you too.”  
Cullen pressed a hard kiss to the mage's forehead. It was only then Cullen registered that night had truly fallen. The sea was a mirror of the black sky above, the glow of the stars diffused by the gentle waves. When Dorian started shivering he knew it was time to get going.  
“Come on” Cullen murmured, gently tugging Dorian to his feet, “let's go home.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping With Ghosts- Placebo


	23. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a slow day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've recently had a lot of personal shit going on and as a result I've completely lacked the motivation to write this chapter. As it is, this chapter is so different from what I originally planned. Initially this chapter progressed the story quite a bit more. Now... not so much.  
> So, here is the first really "smutty" chapter of this fic. I use the term loosely, but it's the closest this fic will actually get to smut.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and forgive me for making it essentially a smutty filler. But, maybe it's time for a bit of a short, fluffy break. Thank you to all who are still following this fic. Your kudos and comments help keep me motivated to see this fic to the end!

Dorian groaned as he awoke, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the morning sunlight. Grumbling, he burrowed further under the covers, trying to protect himself from the biting cold that seemed to be a perpetual state for Ferelden. He rolled, reaching out, making a small noise of disappointment when the bed next to him was empty.  
“Cullen?” he called out, voice thick with sleep.  
“Over here, love” came a soft voice.  
Dorian opened a bleary eye, blinking as the bedroom slowly came into focus. Cullen was standing over at the dresser, completely nude. Dorian smiled to himself, eyes roving the man's toned figure, gaze lingering on the marks he'd left the night before.  
The mage squirmed over to the edge of the bed, letting his hand lazily drift down Cullen's bare thigh, “come back to bed, Amatus” he crooned, lifting up the covers in invitation, “there are so many things we didn't get to last night.”  
Cullen chuckled, turning, and Dorian immediately slid his eyes downwards. He only managed to tear them away when the Ferelden leaned over him. Dorian reached up, twisting his fingers in the thick curls at the base of Cullen's neck. He pulled himself up, pressing his lips to the Ferelden's. Cullen hummed in contentment, and Dorian felt the sound travel immediately downward. He opened an eye, sneaking a glance at Cullen's navel, smiling when he had had the same response.  
Cullen chuckled, “what are you smirking at?”.  
Dorian looked at him through his lashes, trailing a finger down the man's abdomen, relishing in the way that the muscles twitched under his touch, “how easily you're excited.” He tried to pull Cullen down on top of him, frowning when he resisted, “why aren't you moving, you daft man. This isn't how one goes about getting lucky.”  
“That's because” Cullen drawled, straightening up, “I have to go to work, love.”  
Dorian sighed and flopped back down on the bed, turning and hitting Cullen with the full force of a pout. The blasted man just laughed, leaning back down. Dorian gasped at sharp, sweet pain of Cullen's teeth on his throat, making him squirm as the Ferelden left a mark on his skin.  
“Go back to sleep” Cullen murmured, lips brushing the sore spot on Dorian's throat, “and by the time you wake up, I'll be back to give you some more of those.”  
The mage nodded reluctantly, his fingers tracing over the slight swelling on his neck. He burrowed back down into the covers, eyes trained on Cullen's bare arse as he walked out of the room. As Dorian heard the shower start running, he considered getting up to join him. But even as he thought it, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

With the sound of Cullen singing drifted down the hallway, Dorian slowly fell back into a deep sleep.  


***

  
With heavy limbs Dorian pulled himself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned, stretching, feeling his joints popping satisfyingly. Running his hands through his wild bed hair he stood, pulling a pair of Cullen's tracksuit pants on before wandering out to the kitchen.  
Eyes still heavy, Dorian began to paw through the pantry, grumbling when he realised that they were empty. He glared at the seemingly innocuous shopping list that hung up on the inside of the pantry door.  
Shutting the cupboard in defeat, Dorian turned, his eyes immediately falling on the open bag of spinach and cheese pastries on the centre bench. The mage eagerly grabbed one, excitement growing when he realised that their appearance meant Cullen was home.  
“Cullen?” he called, taking a bite of the pastry, “Cullen, are you home?” he sung out again, around the mouthful of food.  
“I'm in here!”  
Dorian quickly scarfed the remainder of his brunch, almost bouncing into the lounge room. Cullen was sat on the couch, nose buried in a book. Dorian tilted his head down, reading the cover, “why are you reading _How To Train Your Mabari_? Again?”.  
Cullen looked up, and Dorian didn't miss the way his gaze travelled up his bare torso.  
“I didn't want to wake you” Cullen explained, when his eyes finally made their way to Dorian's, “you really needed the sleep.”  
Dorian put on a mock scowl. He strode over, snatching the book out of Cullen's hands and plopping himself onto his lap. He leaned in, biting Cullen's throat, drawing a gasp from the man's lips. “Sleep is for the weak” he hissed, “I have too much planned.”  
Cullen's chuckle quickly turned into a moan as Dorian ran his hands up his sides. He pulled off Cullen's shirt, tossing it behind him, gazing reverentially down at the man's bare chest. He bowed his head, dragging his lips over Cullen's collarbone, letting his tongue just barely skim his milky skin. They were moving, and Dorian would deny vehemently that he squeaked when he was suddenly pinned down to the couch by the length of Cullen's firm body. He gave the Ferelden an indignant pout, who gave him a smug smirk in return, which quickly disappeared when Dorian swatted his arse firmly.  
“Hey!” Cullen protested, rolling his hips into Dorian's.  
The mage groaned, feeling heat pool rapidly in his belly. He reached up, knitting his fingers in the golden curls at the nape of Cullen's neck, pulling the Ferelden down into a hard, deep kiss. As their lips moved against each other, Dorian let his hands trail down Cullen's back and over his hip bones. With a little difficulty- and some breathy giggles against each other's lips- Dorian managed to undo Cullen's belt and he'd kicked off his jeans. He smiled triumphantly, dragging his fingers eagerly over Cullen's exposed thighs, feeling the man shiver against him.  
“Someone is excited” Dorian snickered.  
Cullen pulled back, eyebrow arched, “says the one that jumped my bones as soon as he saw me.”  
Dorian scoffed, “hush you” he placed both hands on Cullen's arse, squeezing, “you left me w-mmph!”  
The Ferelden had leaned back down, essentially silencing Dorian by capturing his lips in a kiss. Dorian found he didn't mind too much, letting his eyes slide closed. He groaned as he felt Cullen's tongue invade his mouth, pushing back in kind. The kisses quickly turned hurried and passionate, hands becoming more desperate and rough as the men grabbed at each other. Dorian held Cullen as tight as he possibly could, arms securely wrapped around the man's back.  
Dorian made a small sound of protest as Cullen pulled away. All he received in return was a wink, and Dorian bit his lip in anticipation as Cullen began to move down, lips dragging over the soft flesh of his stomach. The sensation was one he always craved; the gentle tickle of Cullen's stubble against his skin and the rising sensitivity he drew closer to his navel.  
Cullen tugged off Dorian's tracksuit pants, lips immediately going to the newly exposed skin. Dorian gasped, a wave of pleasure rolling over him, fingers twisting in Cullen's hair as the man rested between his legs.  
An endless stream of Tevene and Common profanities poured from Dorian's lips, his hips bucking and belly tensing as Cullen pleasured him. The Ferelden was relentlessly cruel; frequently coaxing Dorian to the edge before stopping, letting him cool down and regain himself before starting again. Dorian didn't think he'd met anyone with such sweet lips as Cullen.  
Finally, Cullen let Dorian finish, the mage unravelling with a cry of ecstasy. He went limp against the couch, hair dishevelled even more than before, matching the mess he'd made of Cullen's blond locks.  
With gentle hands, Cullen rolled Dorian onto his stomach. The mage complied, pliant under his partner's soft direction. With his arms still weak from just before, Dorian folded them on the arm of the couch, pillowing his head against them. He shivered with excitement as he felt Cullen's fingers trace lightly down his spine before his hands found their place on the mage's hips.  
Cullen was always attentive in his love-making. He made sure Dorian was comfortable, made sure he was satisfied long before he himself had reached any sort of release. When clear-headed, Dorian would argue that it was unfair, but in the moment, the Tevinter loved nothing more than the way Cullen looked after him.  
And look after him he did. Even as the Ferelden rocked against him, grunts of pleasure and exertion escaping him, he would still reach forward and take care of Dorian. And once Dorian would fall boneless from release, Cullen would continue to caress him, trail soft kisses along his flesh as he chased his own end.  


***

  
When they had finally collapsed into a sweaty, tired heap, Dorian could feel sleep quickly trying to take him. He ached in such a sweet way, and he wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against Cullen's as he dreamed. He had just began to drift off when he heard Cullen laugh.  
“What?” he mumbled groggily.  
“I don't think we should have sex on the couch anymore” Cullen said, humour colouring his tone, “do you remember how hard it was to clean last time?”  
“Well _I_ think it's worth it” Dorian harrumphed, still refusing to open his eyes, “but we could always invest in leather.”  
Cullen chuckled, “I'm not sure we're still talking about the couch.”  
“Well you do so love when I call you Commander.”  
“Shut up, you” Cullen grumbled.  
Dorian grinned, the effect of his words growing against his thigh. He opened his eyes, a wide wicked grin spreading across his lips as he looked up at Cullen through his eyelashes, “what would you say to a second round?”  
The mage didn't have time to say anything more before Cullen had scooped him up and whisked him away to the bedroom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfaction- Benny Benassi


	24. I Know What You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen catches a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but not really 3:)
> 
> This is the chapter that kind of sparked the idea for this fic, so I've been super excited to write it. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> TW: rape mention and violence in this chapter.
> 
> I always love your comments!

Cullen sat down heavily as the train pulled out of Denerim station. His joints ached dully, and he could still feel his headache through the fog of elfroot, but Cullen was in high spirits. The box of chocolates that he'd bought after work sat on his lap, as well as the few groceries he'd picked up. He grinned to himself as he looked them over, excited to celebrate with Dorian. Though Dorian liked to insist that four months wasn't a long time to be sober, Cullen was still endlessly proud of him.  
He pulled out his phone, putting his earphones in and starting up his music, drowning out the steady whooshing of the rain. He'd initially grumbled when Dorian had insisted he upgrade to a smartphone, and though he'd never admit it, he liked it significantly more than his usual throw away flip phone. Casting a quick look around at the carriage, Cullen put his feet up on the seat across from him, settling down further, enjoying having the carriage to himself.   
Cullen was still scrolling through his phone when the train shuddered to a stop. He quickly took his feet down, hiding his awkward blush as someone sat down near him. He kept his eyes on his phone, still idly going through Facebook, not really paying attention until a picture caught his eye.  
Mia.  
Cullen stopped, clicking on the picture and staring at it. It was Mia in her Honnleath High School uniform, arms wrapped around a girl dressed in a similar outfit. Cullen realised that it was the other girl whom had posted the photo; and old girlfriend of his that had tracked him down online. He studied the photo for a moment, a strange hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Taking a shuddering breath, he clicked on Mia's name, going to her profile.   
The hollow feeling grew as he scrolled through Mia's photos. He smiled sadly as he went through picture after picture; Mia and Rosie, standing next to Branson in his military gear, pulling silly faces at the camera, a photo of Michael, Mia's husband, holding up barbecue tools, wearing an apron printed with nugs, Mia holding her newborn daughter, her son, Isaac, peering over the side of the hospital bed curiously.

The one that made Cullen stop short was a photo from Satinalia the year before. The whole family sat around the table, grinning up at the camera. Mia held her baby to her chest, the niece Cullen was yet to meet, with Isaac leaning against her. Branson was pulling a goofy smile, holding hands with his girlfriend, her stomach swollen with pregnancy. Rosie was giving the camera a cheeky grin, proudly showing off her rude festive jumper. Cullen smiled, his eyes falling on the empty chairs. He assumed one was for Michael, who was obviously the photographer, but the other empty chair stumped him. Until he realised.  
The empty chair was for him.   
Cullen tried to tell himself he was being silly, that he was reading into it, but all the same he felt his eyes begin to prickle, completely enraptured by the family he'd left behind. The family that would welcome him back within an instant, despite him not having been home for Satinalia in some four years. Hadn't talked to them since his last relapse, when he'd stormed out of Mia's house, vowing to never come back, and he hadn't. And still they saved a place for him.   
In a moment of impulsiveness, Cullen opened up his contacts, scrolling to Mia's name. No matter how many times he changed phones, trying to stay isolated, he always copied his contacts across. He had told himself countless times he'd never use them, but each time he rewrote them all into his new phone. Just in case. Cullen quickly flicked his eyes up to the time. 10:37PM. Too late, he told himself, but all the same, he couldn't stop staring at her contact. His finger shook as it hovered over Mia's number, willing himself to _just call her_.   
Cullen jumped when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He looked up, squinting at the man who stood over him, recognising him as the man whom had sat down earlier.  
“Can I help you?”  
The man swayed, his face obscured behind greasy, sandy blond hair, the smell of alcohol rolling off him. Cullen stared up at him, confusion quickly burnt away into an all consuming rage.  
“You.”  
Anders gave him a lopsided sneer, his eyes glassy and unfocused.   
“I thought it wassss you” the apostate hissed, slurring slightly, rocking back and forth with the movement of the train, “I've seen you on here beffore.”  
Cullen slowly stood, trying to calm himself, anger prickling cold and hot all over his skin, “get out of here. _Leave._ Before I call the Templars.”  
“Ssstill under the Chantry's thumb” Anders laughed bitterly.  
Cullen swallowed his response and gathered his things, trying to move past the mage. He gasped as Anders pushed him backwards, trying to avoid colliding with the window. His temper flared, hands beginning to shake with anger,  
“Do not” he began, doing everything to keep his voice measured, “think I have forgotten what you've done. Let me leave. _Now._ ”  
The smirk fell from Anders face, “what I'vve done?” he barked, leaning into Cullen's face, “what about everything that happened in the fffucking Gallows!”  
Cullen forced himself to ignore how the words began to burrow under his skin. He tried to elbow his way past Anders, letting out a cry as he was forcefully shoved back. His things scattered, and his back slammed into the window, sending pain searing up his spine. But Cullen could barely feel it, not with the way that his anger began to cloud him, hot and intense, blistering fiercely in his chest.   
“You ssstood by while mages were killed!” Anders continued, stepping into Cullen's face, his breath hot and pungent with the smell of liquor, “the people you were meant to protect were raped and murdered under yyour watch!”  
Cullen took a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ground, “I know it was fucked up” he hissed the words through gritted teeth, “I am no longer that man.”   
He recoiled in disgust when Anders spat on his chest, feeling his already tenuous grip on his temper slip even further.   
“You let thousands be sslaughtered under your command.”  
Cullen felt his patience snap. “At least I was just following orders!” he yelled, taking a step forward, “unlike you! You chose to blow up the Chantry! You _chose_ to kill hundreds of innocent people!”  
He shivered as he felt the distinctive tingle of magic permeate the air, creeping under his skin and making his hair stand on end. Cullen quickly realised his mistake, his anger draining out of him, replaced by cold fear.   
“Wait!” he began, holding up his hands in surrender, “I'm sorry, I know it was wrong-”  
Cullen was cut off abruptly by Anders' fist colliding with his jaw. He cried out in pain, his jaw throbbing.  
“You killed Karl!” Anders shrieked, eyes wild with fury, “You made him Tranquil- cut off everything that mmmade him him!”.   
Cullen felt a flood of terror as Ander's eyes began to glow a bright, piercing blue. He darted to the left, trying to escape over one of the train chairs. He felt a hand fist in his clothing, yanking him back and slamming him down on the chair across from him. He gasped, his breath knocked out of him, eyes wide as he looked up at Anders. The carriage was bathed in blinding white blue light, emanating from the energy that curled around the mage's arms, burning brightest in his palms.  
“You are an oppressor! A murderer!” Anders screamed, his voice booming with a double timbre, “You will face Justice!”  
It felt like all the air around Cullen was being sucked out, rushing towards Anders, the energy that surrounded him growing brighter and hotter. It all had escalated so quickly. Cullen reacted on pure instinct; before he could even think he put his hands out, casting Silence. Anders stumbled backwards, eyes wide, his magic dissipating. Cullen recognised his chance. In a haze he grabbed for whatever was closest to him, snatching it up and rushing past Anders. He felt his foot jerk back, sending him flying across the floor. He looked up, scrambling back at the sight of Anders standing over him, face contorted with rage, veins bulging.  
“You haven't changed” he spat, “Knight-Captain.”  
Cullen aimed a kick at Anders' knee, unflinching even as his foot connected with a solid snap. Anders crumpled into a heap, filling the carriage with his howl of agony. Cullen didn't stop. He pushed himself up, running headlong towards the door of the carriage. He flung it open, putting his whole weight against it to shut it again behind him. Adrenaline coursed through him, making him twitch and shiver. He bounced impatiently, eyes on the streaks of light from the streetlamps, willing the train to stop.  
Finally, the train began to slow, and Cullen all but launched himself out of the doors, onto the empty station. As soon as his feet hit the platform, he ran. He didn't know where he was, or where he was heading, but he couldn't stop. Not until he put as much distance between himself and Anders as possible. Not until he was as far away from the man that Anders had made him as he could be. He didn't know how long he had been running for before he couldn't any longer, his adrenaline rush gone, leaving only pain. Cullen's run faltered and he fell, sprawling on the concrete. He tried to get up, but his limbs just shook, unable to support his weight. Nausea rolled through him in powerful waves, his body shrieking at him for depriving it of what little lyrium he had still left in him. He felt everything and nothing all at once. His body was hot and cold at the same time, his veins searing, his joints burning, and his stomach hollow. His mind was empty, a fog of numbness, masking the greatest of his agony.   
After a long while, Cullen managed to pull himself up off the ground, his clothes even more sodden and cold than before. Taking a deep breath, arms hung loosely at his sides, he began to walk in the direction that he thought was towards home.  


***

  
It was an hour before Cullen finally made it back home. His clothes were soaked through, his vision was blurry, and he could barely lift his feet, letting them drag along the footpath. He fumbled in his pocket for his key, sending a feeble thanks to the Maker that it was there, and let himself in.  
“Dorian?”  
He tracked water on the floor as he trudged further into the house, not even bothering to brush his dripping wet hair from his eyes.  
“Dorian?” he called again, voice quiet, “oh.”  
Cullen stopped when he remembered that Dorian was at the studio. He'd told him so that morning. Cullen nodded as he remembered, unfeeling, wandering to the bedroom in a haze. He slowly began to peel off his clothes, shivering as the cold air hit his wet, bare skin. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, noting that his lips were blue from the chill. Legs moving of their own volition, Cullen found himself lying on the bed, not even noticing his mattress growing cold and damp beneath him. He reached out, hand falling on Dorian's side of the bed, fingers meeting nothing but the sheets. And it was then that Cullen finally returned to himself.   
Tears began to leak from his eyes, just a little at first, but then it turned into an onslaught he couldn't stop.  
“Fuck” he hissed, “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”   
Cullen quickly felt himself slip into hysteria, his breathing becoming short and jagged, each breath like a punch to his chest. He curled in on himself, body jolting, hands twisting in his hair, pain searing through his scalp as his own grip threatened to rip it out. Anders' words echoed around his head, the image of the mage's fury burnt into his mind. His righteous fury. Cullen felt shame stab him sharply in the gut. He had _defended_ his actions. Tried to justify them. Anders was right. Cullen could still feel the rush he had felt when he cast the Silence. The power that had surged through him, just for a second. How good it had felt. How right it had felt.   
“I haven't changed” he lamented, eyes squeezed shut, “I'm the same man.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Know What You Are- TLOU soundtrack
> 
> BTW I love Anders! I just thought he'd be the perfect catalyst for this chapter.


	25. Teardrop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you brought your bleeding hearts because I have more angst!
> 
> Another chapter I was excited to write, mostly because this and the story ahead was the starting point for this fic when I began to think of it. Quick TW there is a blood mention.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! I always love comments, kudos and I love the fact that you guys read it :)
> 
> Unfortunately the speed of updates is most likely going to slow significantly; I've just started uni so I now have much less free time. I'm still very dedicated to finishing this fic though!
> 
> Enjoy :D

It felt as if Cullen had had everything torn out of him. He stood at his kitchen window, staring blankly out into the grey morning, coffee in hand, cigarette between his lips. He took a long drag, making sure to blow the smoke out of the window, ashing out into the garden.  
His withdrawals were back with a vengeance, settling in his stomach and filling him with a deep pain that pulsated under his skin. He could feel it prickling up his spine, migraine forming in the base of his skull. He took another pull on his cigarette, groaning in frustration when it offered him no relief.  
Cullen started when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He hastily stubbed his smoke, throwing it out into the garden and shutting the window as quickly and quietly as he could. He took a swig of his coffee in an attempt to cover his breath, grimacing as he realised it was stone cold. He tipped it down the sink, beginning to wash out the mug as Dorian wandered in.  
“Good morning” Dorian mumbled, voice low and husky with sleep.  
Cullen froze as he felt Dorian lean in against him, panic rising in his chest. It was wrong. Wrong. Shame and repulsion slammed into him so quickly that it felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. He shied away from the mage's touch, unable to look at the man. He felt Dorian lean back, the man's gaze like needles as it swept over him.  
“Amatus” Dorian gasped, “what happened to your face?”  
Cullen yelped as he felt Dorian's fingers probe at his jaw, jerking his face away. He knew what Dorian could see; the deep purple black bruise that had bloomed under his fair skin, the swelling that ran from his bottom lip to his ear, the shadows under his eyes.  
He shrugged, turning away, “it was an accident at the shop. A shelf fell on me” he forced himself to keep his eyes on the mug he'd been washing for the past five minutes, “it's nothing. I'm fine.”  
Cullen felt Dorian's eyes on him again, shrinking into himself under the weight of the mage's scrutiny. Dorian's fingers brushed gently over his cheek and he flinched away, hands clenching into fists. All he could see was Ander's face, hear his words over and over again in his head. He screwed his eyes shut, bowing his head as he tried to shut out the shouting.  
“Are you okay?”  
Cullen fought to keep his voice even, “I'm fine.”  
Dorian huffed a sarcastic laugh, leaning forwards until he was in Cullen's peripheral, “look at yourself. You are most definitely _not_ fine. Please, amatus” his voice became softer, hand ghosting over Cullen's knuckles, “tell me what's wrong.”  
Cullen snatched his hand away, unable to stop himself from growling, “I said I'm fine, Dorian. Leave it be.”  
“But-”  
“ _No”_ Cullen turned, unable to stop the wave of anger that suddenly burned through him, “no buts. Just back off.”  
Dorian scowled, “as you wish. I'm going grocery shopping.” He turned on his heel, striding off, but not before Cullen saw how the mage's eyes began to swim. He deflated, guilt quickly eating up the anger. He flinched as he heard the bathroom door slam shut, letting out a long, low moan.  
He dug his fingernails into his palms, “go to him” nails biting into the skin, “ _go and fucking apologise_.”  
He scoffed in disgust as he stayed firmly rooted to the spot, eyes locked on the doorway. It was for the better, anyway, he told himself. The quicker Dorian realised he wasn't good, the better. It hurt, like a blunt blade digging at his chest, but Cullen knew deep down that Dorian would be better without him. He just regretted that it had taken him so long to figure that out. He wandered over into the lounge room, collapsing onto the couch and curling into himself. He hadn't stopped thinking about Anders since the night before. He had lain awake all night, eyes staring sightlessly into the dark, the image of Ander's face, the pure, seething hatred on it seared into Cullen's mind.  
That wasn't what bothered him, though. Cullen knew he was hated. He was sure that there were others, like Anders, for whom his face was that of evil. He had made his peace with that; as much as he could, at least. What had truly dug under Cullen's skin and was sitting there, pulsating and painful, was the Silence. In an instant everything he had worked for, everything he had tried to move away from was destroyed. The man he had become was gone, lost in the abyss that was the deep rot at his core. All that was left was the man Cullen had been. The man he always would be.  
Cullen's arms wound around his middle, and for a moment he wondered if they were the only things keeping him from shattering at that moment. Agony radiated through him so potently he could barely tell what was physical and what was emotional. He just _hurt_.  
And there, even further down than the pain of withdrawal and shame, wrought through Cullen's bones and twisting the pit of his stomach was craving. His body ached for lyrium, lamenting the loss so fiercely that Cullen felt as if his bones would snap. He had thought he could curb his craving, that his need for lyrium would have faded in the many months it had been since he'd taken any, but there it was; the phantom taste on the back of his tongue, the ghost of the song twirling through his head, gliding over his skin like a lover, calling him, _pulling_ him.  
Cullen whined, long and low, tucking himself into a tight, shivering ball as he was dragged under the tide of self-loathing.

  
***

Dorian left without a word. Cullen could hear him walking through the house as he got ready to go, and his skin prickled as he felt Dorian's gaze on him. He couldn't tell if Dorian was still angry, or if he was sad, but either way he didn't surface from his thoughts, instead keeping his head ducked against his knees. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, behind the self-pitying thoughts that claimed most of his attention, that he was being a coward. That all he had to do was to reach out to the mage, ask for help; but those fragile, hopeful ideas were all too quickly shattered as flickers of Anders or Kirkwall or Kinloch reared their ugly heads. Instead, Cullen stayed completely absorbed in his own head, replaying memories as he tried to distract himself from the sweet taunt of lyrium that clouded him.

He could barely picture Dorian in his head, let alone face him. The idea of the mage filled him with pure, cold fear. He told himself that it was fear of hurting the man he loved, fear that he'd break him the way he'd broken so many others before him. But part of Cullen, the sinister voice that lurked in the back of his mind, showed him flashes of Anders' magic, reminded him of the stab of terror he had felt; it told him that he wasn't scared _for_ Dorian. He was scared _of_ him.  
As soon as Cullen heard the front door close, his mind ceased its chaos, giving way to one perfect moment of clarity. Cutting through everything, stopping all his memories and thoughts in their tracks, came Cullen's one directive. Find lyrium. He leapt from the couch like he'd been burned, almost sending himself sprawling in his haste. There were multiple voices in his head, yelling at him with conflicting messages.  
_Don't do it._

_  
You'll hurt him._

_  
Maybe it's the best thing._

_  
You were always going to fail._

 

_You've come so far._

 

_You'll always be the same._

_  
You've changed._

_  
It will destroy him._

 

They were all drowned out by one voice, which thundered over and over in his head, filling every inch of Cullen's consciousness. _You need it._  
Cullen darted into the bedroom, beginning to go through his bedside table. He knew he had a stash. He'd hidden it somewhere, he always had a stash. He rummaged through the drawers, slamming them in disgust when they yielded nothing. He had to restrain himself as he went through the dresser, all but shoving the clothes around, growing more antsy when they held nothing but clothes. Next he tried the bathroom, throwing bottles out, developing a disconcerting tunnel vision as his frenzy intensified. Leaving the bathroom a mess he ran headlong into the study, frantically going through the bookshelves, tossing books over his shoulder.  
“Fuck!” he barked, driving his fists into the bookshelf, making it wobble dangerously back and forth, sending a few more books to the floor. Cullen barely noticed, his breathing short and shallow, eyes beginning to tear up. He needed it. He needed it to be good again. He needed it so there was something stable again. Something he couldn't hurt.  
In a spark, Cullen suddenly remembered the stash in the desk. He tore over to it, yanking the drawers out forcefully, ripping through the contents, his actions becoming slower and weaker as his memory came back to him. The memory of him taking the little bag. Flashes of him holding it, like an open flame in his palm. The sudden realisation as he remembered himself, tossing the precious blue pills into the toilet… Gone forever in an instant.  
“FUCK!” he shrieked, fisting his hands in his hair, pulling so tight he threatened to rip it from his head, “fucking FUCK!” He kicked at the desk, sending pain shooting up his leg, his toes crunching painfully. He crouched, tears finally beginning to flow, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue as his teeth bit into his lip.  
“Please” he whispered to himself, unable to even feel repulsion at how his voice shook, “I just need something. Anything. I need to feel anything but this.”  
A soft voice answered, curling through his mind. It was more than just a voice, soft and warm and comforting as it swathed him, everywhere and nowhere at once, wrapping its phantom hands around him, coaxing him into its embrace. He no longer had the will to resist.

***

Cullen sat heavily onto the toilet seat, resting his head against the cubicle wall. The public bathroom was dingy, falling rapidly into disrepair, but Cullen found he could care little, all of his attention turned to the baggy that he was pulling from his pocket. The toilet stall glowed dimly, lit by the soft light that the lyrium emitted.  
With the pills right there, nestled in the palm of his calloused hand, Cullen felt reality crash down around him. The relief that had washed over him when he'd finally obtained it leaked away, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Even the frenzy of need had faded away, and Cullen was left with just himself.  
The craving hadn't left, sitting, festering like a boil in the pit of Cullen's stomach; but while much of him was reaching for the lyrium, parts of him shied away. Was he really doing this? Was he really going to throw away almost a year of sobriety in a moment of weakness?  
The lyrium throbbed against his palm, threatening to dissolve even more of his already tenuous resolve. Cullen sighed, head dropping. His eyes found the pills, which looked so unassuming, the soft pulsating glow a familiar blue. Lyrium represented everything that was wrong with him. It was his Templar training, it was his lack of self control, it was every mage he had hurt, it was every fight with his family, it was the pain and betrayal written clear across Dorian's face when he'd been found. Lyrium was everything he loathed in himself and still he stared at it like they were lovers reunited.  
And Cullen hated himself for it.  
“It's the last time” he muttered, slowly opening the bag, “just this once, to get myself back to normal.”  
He reached in, taking a small pill out of he bag. He could feel the magic soaking into his skin, warm and comforting, tempting him with every second. He closed his hand into a fist around it, squeezing his eyes shut. But his protest died on his lips, drowned by the song before it could truly be a coherent thought. Cullen had tried to call on his inner strength, the strength that had let him resist the last time, but all there was was a hole, punched through his centre, ragged round the edges. All that he could find within himself was the knowledge that this was always going to happen. He'd tried his hardest, but this was always how it was going to end.  
He laughed bitterly, “no” he opened his palm, gazing ruefully down at the seemingly innocuous pill, “I may not be strong enough to resist now, but I promise” he took a deep breath, pressing the pill to his lips, “I promise you, Dorian, this will be my last time.”  
Closing his eyes, Cullen placed the pill on his tongue, the song so clear and sweet that it made his head swim, cloaking him in warmth as he swallowed. The effect was instant, euphoria swirling through him, magic permeating his bones. His moan was almost sexual, closing his eyes and leaning back, images of he and Dorian swimming into his mind. The fear had disappeared, and all that remained when he thought of Dorian was a strong, encapsulating love.  
Everything was going to be ok.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teardrop- Massive Attack


	26. The Lie In Which You Linger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is home alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm so sorry that this chapter has taken so long. Not only have I had a lot of work with uni, but my laptop died on me, taking with it a half-finished version of this chapter.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and we are now entering into the last ten or so chapters of this fic.
> 
> As always, I love comments, hearing your feedback is what keeps me going!
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Dorian heaved the bags of groceries up onto the kitchen counter with a _thud_. The contents spilled out a little as the flimsy plastic collapsed onto itself, which only served to further sour his mood; though, that wasn’t too hard, considering the way he’d glowered throughout the entire shopping trip. The lack of an apology text from Cullen had irked him greatly, though a smaller, less prideful part of Dorian’s conscience told him that he hadn’t exactly responded entirely rationally that morning, either. That taken into consideration, however, Cullen had still pissed him off, and all he’d wanted to do was help. Under all of that, however, was a deep worry that ate away at his insides. Dorian groaned; the morning had been a mess.  
He began to unpack the groceries, waving a hand idly, sending the items one by one into their correct spots in the kitchen. As the food items magically whizzed about the kitchen, Dorian poked his head out of the kitchen doorway.   
“Cullen!” he called, the usual sing-song he reserved for the occasion gone, “I’m home!”  
He was met with nothing but silence. When he’d first come through the door, it had been a nice contrast to the steady _whooshing_ of the rain, but now it was almost deafening in its wrongness. Dorian peered into the loungeroom, mouth quirking at the sight of the empty couch. Flicking his hand again to make sure the groceries stayed on their paths, he wandered out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. Cullen was not in the bed, which was still made perfectly as they left it every morning. Neither was he in the bathroom, nor the study. Dorian groaned when he saw the study, trudging in and picking up the books that had been strewn across the ground, his ire growing at the sight of the carelessness with which they’d been tossed. Cullen was going to receive an earful when he got home from… wherever he was.   
He dawdled back into the kitchen, more irritated than worried, snatching up his phone as the last of the food items slotted themselves into their places. Opening Cullen’s contact, Dorian quickly typed a “where r u?” before sending it off. He waited what felt like five minutes, but was in reality not even a full two, before he called Cullen. The phone rung once. Twice. Three times. Four. The phone rang out, and Cullen’s voice came through, “sorry, I can’t take your call at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”   
Dorian grumbled, trying to ignore the little pinpricks of fear that began to prod at his belly. He quickly tapped out another message to Cullen, sending it off, brows furrowed just a little.   
“He’s just gone to the corner store” he muttered to himself, gathering up the empty plastic bags, “he’s just getting cigarettes, and he’s not answering his phone because it’s on silent.”  
Feeling just a little placated, Dorian pushed the plastic bags into the bin. He retrieved his book from his bedside table before making his way into the front room. With a quick glance at the front door, he settled down at the little lounge he’d pushed under the sun-facing window.   
“He’ll be home soon” he sighed, opening his book, “and when he does, we’re going to have a talk.”  


***  


Six hours later, and the sun had begun to sink low in the sky. Dorian stood in the kitchen, idly stirring the dinner he’d begun to cook, barely noticing the pasta that stuck to the bottom of the pot. All his attention was focused on his phone which sat, screen black, beside him. He’d heard nothing from Cullen, and he was sure that, by now, the man had at least 20 notifications on his screen. He was now just waiting, or at least trying to. Patience had never been a virtue of his, and he could feel that even more intensely with every minute that he waited for Cullen to come home.  
He finally cracked. Throwing down his spoon, Dorian grabbed his phone, quickly scrolling to Cassandra’s contact. He tapped impatiently at the call button, jamming the phone to his ear as the line began to ring.   
The call rang out, Cassandra’s clipped voice telling him to leave a message. Dorian barely got two words into it before he was tapping the end button in disgust. He stood there for a moment, staring at his phone, willing for Cullen to call. The phone stayed silent, the picture of he and Cullen he had as his lock screen staring up at him, mocking him.   
“Kaffas” he hissed, finally relenting, and pulling up Sera’s contact.   
Sera answered in the first two rings, her childlike voice loud in his ear, “Hey, you.”  
“Sera” he began, almost wincing at what he was about to ask, “have you seen Cullen?”  
“What do you mean, Fancy Pants?” Dorian could tell she was paying attention to something else, “why would he be here?”  
Dorian sighed, leaning forwards on the bench, ignoring the pasta as the water boiled over the sides of the pot, “he was being so odd this morning, and we argued. I went out to the grocery store and when I came home, he wasn’t here. He’s not answering his phone, and I haven’t seen him since this morning.”  
“You mean you can’t find him. Again.”   
Dorian’s hackles immediately went up, “it isn’t like that at all. He was upset, I’m just worried that he’s…” he trailed off, unable to finish his thought.  
“Worried that he’s buggered off again” Sera scoffed, “yeah, no shit. Your Cully-Wully isn’t exactly reliable.”  
“He’s changed” Dorian barked, his free hand balling into a fist, Sera bringing forth fears that he’d been trying to ignore, “just because you and Bull refused to give him a chance- “  
“Pfft. I reckon we’re a bit more right than you. Your head’s too far up your arse to see him for what he is.”  
“You know” Dorian snapped, “I don’t think either you or Bull have exactly been _present_ enough as friends to pass any sort of judgement on Cullen.”  
Sera growled, “we would’ve been, except you’ve been so busy wanking him off you don’t have time for your friends anymore. Can’t be your friends if you don’t let us.”  
Dorian laughed, the sound thick with derision, “oh yes, because if I ‘let’ Bull be my friend again, he would rush to my side” he lifted his hand, rubbing at his eyes, “Bull wants nothing to do with me. He doesn’t want to be my friend.”  
“That’s rubbish” Sera retorted, “all he ever talks about is how frigging worried he is about you.”  
“Bullshit. If you were so worried then both of you would have tried to ‘help’, or whatever it is you consider attacking my boyfriend to be.”  
“We have tried!” Sera cried, and Dorian could almost picture her small elven face, pinched with fury. In an instant, all of Dorian’s anger leaked out of him. He just felt tired. Hurt.  
“True friends” he began, his voice quieter, his fist loosened, “would have stayed by me.”  
He let his head hang as the line went dead, Sera’s voice replaced by the loud beeping of the hang up tone. He leaned forwards, resting his head against the cabinets, eyes closing. His forgotten pot of pasta hissed as water bubbled over the sides, sizzling on the stovetop. Dorian didn’t know what he was doing.   
He felt his phone buzz in his hand. He quickly held it up, heart racing at thought that it was Cullen. But, instead, the message was from Bull. Reluctantly, Dorian opened it, heart sinking down into his stomach.  
  
_From: Bull  
To: 0418256729_

_Sera told me what happened. If you really think that, then you’re stupider than I thought. We’ve looked out for you when that POS hasn’t._

_5:56PM_

Dorian felt his temper quickly spark up inside him. It was Bull that had told him they couldn’t be friends. _He_ had still wanted to remain close, even after Bull had been so awful. No matter what he said to _them_ it had been _them_ who had pushed him away. That said, however, Dorian didn’t want another fight. Taking a deep breath, Dorian deleted the message. He tried to keep his breathing even, pushing out his anger, and trying to ignore the sinking feeling that Sera had left him with. Cullen wouldn’t leave. Not again. He’d promised that he was done with that. They didn’t know Cullen, not like he did.  
Dorian quickly tapped out another message to Cullen, demanding that he answer his phone. He couldn’t help the pleading tone that seeped into the message. With dread settling heavily into his gut, Dorian put the phone down. He took a long, shuddering breath, turning back to the stove to try and salvage his ruined dinner.  


***  


The rain pelted down on the roof of Haven as Dorian lay dozing in the front room. His eyelids drooped as he struggled to stay awake, his empty dinner bowl threatening to drop from his lap.   
The doorknob rattled, the door swinging open with a creak. Dorian snapped into alertness, jerking upright.   
Cullen shuffled in, lit dimly by the streetlight. His head was down, hair hanging in damp ringlets, dripping onto his jacket. He turned, shutting the door with a quiet click, turning the lock slowly. Dorian watched him silently, curled up on himself. Finally, Cullen turned, eyes going wide when they fell on Dorian.  
“Where have you been?” he asked quietly.  
Cullen’s hand drifted to the back of his neck, his eyes staring earnestly into Dorian’s, “I was called into work. Sorry, love.”  
Dorian pulled out his phone, taking a pointed look at it, “it’s past 8:30, Cullen” his voice was subdued, both from the leftover drowsiness, and in an attempt to keep his temper in check, “why didn’t you answer your phone?”  
Cullen smiled, “I may or may not have lost it” he admitted sheepishly.  
Dorian baulked, standing from the couch, “how did you manage to _lose_ it, you daft man?”  
Cullen shrugged, smile still playing on his lips, “I’m not quite sure. It isn’t important, anyhow.”  
Dorian opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say. Cullen from that morning had completely disappeared. The anger that Dorian felt morphed into confusion as the blond stood there, silly grin still plastered on his face.  
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to achieve with that smile” Dorian finally managed, “but let it be known that you won’t be let off the hook by being cute.”  
“But I am cute, aren’t I?” Cullen teased, wandering closer, his hands ghosting over Dorian’s waist.  
Dorian jumped at the contact, mind going back to the way Cullen had shied away from any touch just a few hours earlier. He had no idea what was going on, all of his thoughts, all of his plans of what he was going to say to Cullen getting tangled and confused. The earful he had planned simply drifted to the back of his mind, forgotten as he stared at Cullen, whose head was tilted to the side like a huge puppy, big golden eyes looking at him in imploringly.  
“I suppose” he said slowly, eyeing Cullen.  
That seemed to please the man, because Dorian suddenly found himself swept into a hug, held tight by Cullen’s thick, muscular arms. Cullen’s lips quickly found his throat, brushing along the sensitive skin, finding the hollow of Dorian’s angular jaw.   
“I missed you all day” Cullen breathed.  
That was enough to make Dorian melt. He felt all the tension in his body melt away. Why shouldn’t he believe Cullen? He had changed. He wouldn’t lie. Didn’t have to lie. Dorian let go the last of his reservations, leaning into Cullen’s warm embrace.   
“I was so worried, Amatus” he murmured, arms wrapping around Cullen’s slim waist.   
Cullen brushed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’m sorry, love. It was urgent.”  
Dorian sighed, “I know, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone. Now” he pulled back, letting his hands slide into Cullen’s, their fingers entwining instinctively, “come. I’ve made some dinner and Maker be damned if you don’t eat it.”  
Cullen chuckled, the sound low and rich, “of course I’ll eat it. I wouldn’t want to upset the Maker. Or you” he added, when Dorian shot him a look.  
Dorian grinned, relief swelling in his chest, and led Cullen towards the kitchen.  


***  


Dorian was pulled violently from a deep sleep. He sat bolt upright, breath short with panic as the bed shook beneath him. Suddenly, a heavy weight hit him hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He gasped, eyes finally falling on the writhing form next to him. Cullen squirmed and thrashed, his eyes rolled back in his head, quiet whimpers escaping his parted lips.  
Dorian turned the lamp on with a quick flick of his wrist, his hands immediately going to Cullen’s shoulders. He shook him, none too lightly, “Cullen!”  
Cullen’s head whipped from side to side, “Cullen! Wake up!”  
The blond let out a wordless cry, his eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide with fear. He panted, body slick with sweat, chest rising and falling with his quick, panicked breaths.  
“It’s alright” Dorian murmured, placing a gentle hand on Cullen’s cheek, “you’re safe.”  
Cullen’s eyes snapped to him, and Dorian could see him slowly calming down, his breathing returning to normal. He leaned in, head pressed to Dorian’s chest, and Dorian wrapped his arms around his shoulders.  
“Are you ok?” he asked softly, hands beginning to disentangle Cullen’s limbs from where they were wrapped in the sheets, “it’s been so long since you’ve had a night terror.”  
Cullen nodded, his hands clenched into fists on his lap, the veins standing out underneath his fair skin. Dorian didn’t miss this, tilting his head sceptically as his grey eyes roved over Cullen.  
“Are you sure?” he pressed, fingers beginning to card through Cullen’s hair.  
Cullen sighed, leaning away, “I’m fine” he insisted, “it’s just been a while, is all. I’m not used to them anymore.”  
Dorian’s mouth quirked, “that isn’t really helping your case.”  
Cullen gave him a look, beginning to get out of the bed.  
“Where are you going?”  
Cullen lifted his hands in surrender, “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a moment.”  
Dorian pouted, but waved Cullen away. As the blond trudged out of view, Dorian couldn’t help worry about the haunted look on the man’s face. His eyes wide and sunken, despite the smile that was stretched across his scarred lips. They were the eyes of a man who had seen things no person ever should. Dorian wished, not for the first time, that he could take those things away from Cullen. He lay down, eyes on the bedroom door.   
When Cullen finally returned, he seemed far more relaxed. Though he still walked straight-backed as always, the tension that he normally carried in his shoulders was all but gone.   
“How are you feeling?” Dorian asked carefully, a little afraid to ruin this spontaneous good mood.  
“I’m fine” Cullen replied, almost happily, “just needed to splash some water on my face.”  
He climbed back into the bed, and Dorian suddenly found himself lying along the man, Cullen’s arms wrapped firmly around his waist, securing them to each other. He felt the brush of lips against his hair and he let himself relax, going boneless as the heat that radiated off Cullen soaked into his bones. He trailed his fingers along Cullen’s side, feeling the man’s muscles twitch as it tickled him. Sleep was quickly sneaking up on him, threatening to pull him back under. Dorian yawned, stretching out, draping himself even further over his boyfriend.  
“Festis bei umo canavarum” he murmured sleepily.  
Cullen laughed quietly, “I don’t know what the means, Dorian.”  
Dorian grumbled, “it means stop making me worry, you oaf.”  
“I’ll try” Cullen hummed.  
Dorian made a noise of contentment, finally letting his eyes slide closed. It was with the feeling of Cullen’s arms wrapped around him, and the man’s even breathing ghosting over his back that he finally let himself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lie In Which You Linger- Dragon Age Inquisition Soundtrack


	27. Where Is My Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen goes into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was unable to help how excited I was for this chapter. I had a day off from uni, so I decided to just bang it out in a day. Thankfully, this chapter basically just wrote itself!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for reading this far in. I don't know how any of you managed to get past the first few chapters (I reread them recently and cringed very hard), but I'd like to thank you all for sticking by it. This is the first time I've ever written any sort of sustained story, so it has been very challenging at times. That said, it's definitely helped my writing improve, and I hope to write more fics for you all in the future!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and the next one will be up soon!
> 
> On a side note, I wonder how many of you listen to the songs the chapters are named after while reading each chapter.
> 
> TW: sexual assault. assault.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Cullen chanted at himself, each step punctuated with another “stupid.” He stormed through Amaranthine, head down, ignoring the strange looks he received from every person he passed.   
“You shouldn’t have taken it” he hissed, teeth chattering as he shivered violently, “you fucking idiot.”   
He had been vomiting most of the day, withdrawal hitting him like a truck. He’d tried to hide it, avoiding Dorian for most of the morning, seeking shelter in whatever room Dorian hadn’t been in. Dorian wasn’t an idiot, Cullen knew that, but he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t see that betrayal, the hurt it would cause if Dorian knew he was using again. As soon as Dorian had left for work that evening, Cullen had all but sprinted from the house.   
Cullen finally made it into the fishing district of Amaranthine. He could hear the water rushing out at the docks, catching glimpses of the inky black ocean between the buildings as he wound his way further into the industrial area.  He kept his head down, still muttering to himself, pain wrought in his bones and nausea rolling through his stomach. He could hear the noise of Therinfall Redoubt growing louder as he drew closer, only looking up when he could see the red neon lights reflected in the wet pavement.   
The club was tall- a renovated chantry turned sleazy gentlemen’s club- the steeple imposing against the cloudy night sky. Cullen glared up at it, the sight of the pulsating sign making him feel sick in a way that had nothing to do with his withdrawal. Was he really going to do this? He sighed leaning against a streetlight, eyes fixed on the door to the club.  
“You’re a piece of shit, Cullen” he told himself, his voice a defeated monotone, “you can’t do it.”  
Even as Cullen said it, he didn’t quite know what ‘it’ was. He didn’t know if it was staying sober, or if it was going home to Dorian and lying. He just wanted to be able to touch Dorian again, hold him without fearing he was going to hurt him. Without thinking that Dorian was going to hurt _him_. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, pushing until he saw spots. He was better on lyrium. He was happy. Wasn’t that what Dorian deserved?   
Cullen pushed himself off the streetlamp, resolve strengthening. He was broken, a useless piece of shit when he was sober; scared and weak and paranoid. If he was high again, he could be good. He nodded to himself, beginning to saunter towards the club. He stopped at the door, knocking loudly. The arched door opened, a heavy-set man stepping into it, barring Cullen’s entrance. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his dogtags, dropping them into the man’s open palm. The bouncer lifted them into the light, scrutinising them. After a moment he tossed them back to Cullen.  
“Should wear ‘em” he grunted, stepping aside to allow Cullen through, “no shame in them ‘ere, brother.”  
Cullen nodded, smiling weakly as he walked into the club.  


***  


  
The club was as seedy as the last time he’d been in; though it no longer shocked him, it filled him with no less disgust. The lights were low, only the dim glow of more red neon lighting the room, reflecting off the mirrors that lined the walls. No one looked at him as he pushed through, most leering up at the stage. Women thrust their hips, gyrating and gasping as they danced around the stripper poles, moving to the thudding, repetitive music that filled the club. They were all human, their bodies barely covered, dead eyes staring sightlessly over the men as they moved. Cullen kept his eyes down, trying not to look at them.   
He gasped as a hand curled around his waist. He turned, locking eyes with a girl. Her blue eyes bored into his, dull and blank. He supposed she would have been pretty once, but her bruised lips and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of an abuse that he had hoped to leave behind when he left the Order. Sadness pierced him even deeper when he looked above her eyes, the Andrastrian Sun burned into her skin.  
The tranquil moved into his space, pressing her chest to his, “do you want to have a good time?” Her voice was a soft monotone.  
Cullen felt the fierce desire to help her. To scoop her up into his arms and carry her to safety, away from the filth that he had once considered to be his brethren. But then, as if sensing that he was straying off the path to release, pain coursed through him, like his bones were being crushed in a vice. He grunted, taking a step back from the girl, who watched him passively. Any illusions of heroics were shattered in an instant; how could he save someone else if he couldn’t even save himself?  
“I’m okay, thank you” he mumbled, gently pushing past her. He kept his head bowed, shame burning under his skin as he tried not to think too much on his cowardice.   
He finally broke through the crowd, reaching the bar. He leaned against the pleather, grimacing as he caught his reflection in the mirrored walls, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. The sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention and he looked up, eyes meeting the disapproving gaze of a young woman.   
“What do you want?” she snapped, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.   
Cullen swallowed hard, taking a moment to answer. This was his last chance to back out, to leave and run back into Dorian’s arms. Tell him he’d used again. Tell him he was sorry. Promise him he’d never do it again.  
“Blue.”  
The answer was out before he’d even realised he’d said it. The woman smiled, the cute gap between her front teeth contrasting with the wicked nature of her grin. Her gaze left Cullen, and he saw her gesture to someone behind him. A hand clapped onto his shoulder, turning him.   
“Maddox?”  
The tranquil nodded, tugging Cullen from the bar, “Knight-Commander Cullen.”  
Cullen winced, allowing himself to be led through the crowd and further into the club, “what are you doing here? Last I’d heard you were still in Kirkwall.”  
“Samson rescued me” he stated, eyes staring straight ahead as they walked, “he helped me, and asked me to help him in return.”  
“Help him how?”  
Maddox didn’t respond, instead pulling Cullen down a set of stairs. It was here that he could start to see what remained of the chantry underneath. There were alcoves set into the walls that once would have held paintings of Divines, or candles lit for prayer. Instead, they were decorated with photos of nude women, their bodies twisted provocatively. The pair reached the end of the hallway, and Maddox reached into his pocket, pulling out a plastic ID card. He swiped it in the black reader and the lock on the door clicked, swinging open automatically. Maddox stepped back, gesturing for Cullen to go in. And so he did.  


***  


Samson sat behind a long desk, feet up, arm wrapped around a woman’s waist, talking to the men around him. His eyes flicked up as Cullen entered, his momentary surprise disappearing into a smug sneer.  
“Rutherford” he rasped, taking his feet down, leaning forwards onto the desk, “I’d wondered when you’d be back. Two pills ain’t exactly a whole lot to tide you over.”   
Cullen ignored the comment, “why am I back here?” he asked acidly, “Yesterday you sold to me from the bar. Just let me buy some blue.”  
Samson snickered, “Maker, impatient, aren’t you?” he turned to the woman next to him, “whaddya think, Amell? Forgotten he isn’t in charge anymore, hasn’t he?”  
Cullen started at the name, taking a proper look at the woman whom Samson’s arm was slung around. Solona’s skin had lost its natural glow, her once flowing, curly hair had been straightened and hung at her elbows. Her tawny eyes were blank as they stared at Cullen, her face devoid of any emotion.  
“That is apparent” she stated, her once strong voice reduced to a quiet monotone, matching that of the girl from before. Cullen tried to keep the pain from showing.   
“So” Samson began, eyes sweeping over Cullen, “what happened to your ‘sobriety’. Just yesterday you were tellin’ me that it was your last time” he cackled, the other men in the room laughing with him, “seems like not even the fucking Knight-Captain can resist the blue.”  
Cullen’s hand immediately went to the back of his neck, an angry flush rising in his cheeks as Samson’s bloodshot eyes followed the movement with glee.  
“What happened to you being protector of mages?” he shot back, unable to tear is eyes away from Solona, “that seemed to be our main point of contention when you left the Order.”  
Samson shrugged, the movement so nonchalant that it was almost like Cullen had merely asked him what the time was, “my boss showed me a better, more… lucrative perspective. Things change” he pulled Solona in closer, “besides, tranquils never say no.”  
“What happened to you, Sam?” Cullen sighed, disgust rivalled by a deformed sort of pity.  
Samson scowled, “fuck off with that ‘we were friends’ shit. You here to buy or not?”  
Cullen nodded reluctantly, stepping towards the desk. The grin returned to Samson’s face, showing off his yellowed teeth, making the dry, red skin around his eyes crinkle. He reached down, pulling a briefcase up onto the desk, opening it with a click. He took out a small plastic bag, holding it out to Cullen. Cullen’s eyes were locked on it, the little blue pills glowing sweetly, his lover’s song dancing through the air, coaxing him closer. He reached out his hand, closing his fingers around the bag when it was ripped from his grip. He felt a ghost warmth over his fingertips, fading before he could take hold of it.   
His head snapped up, eyes wild, confused anger tearing through him as he glared at Samson.   
“Please” he choked, every fibre of his being screaming for the lyrium, “please, Samson, I need it.”  
Samson barked a harsh laugh, clenching the bag of blue in his fist, “ah, Rutherford. It’s been years since I’ve heard you beg like that.” He looked back in the briefcase, pulling out another bag and chucking it. It landed with a soft _thump_ on the desk in front of Cullen and he looked down, eyes going wide. The red lyrium pulsated in front of him, casting a vibrant red light around it. Its song -if it could even be called that- chanted at him, low and insistent, a cacophony of a thousand whispering voices.  
Cullen took a step back, shaking his head vigorously, “no” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the red, “I just want blue.”  
Samson tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, “don’t know what you’re missing out on. The high is like nothing you’ve ever felt. And” he wrapped his arm tighter around Solona, hand roughly squeezing her breast, “you’re gonna be able to fuck all night. Kinda looks like you need a good fuck.”  
Cullen felt heat rise in his cheeks again, the hand on his neck twisting tight in his hair, “Just the b- “  
Samson held up a finger to silence him, “first hit is on the house.”  
Cullen took another look at the red. It was a fine powder, seeming to shift and slide on its own, glowing bright. It looked menacing, and its song was like nails on a chalkboard, but it was just lyrium. He knew lyrium. He’d taken it for most of his life. He’d used different brands of deathroot extract to get high before, smoked different cigarettes. How was this any different?  
“Fine” he muttered, relenting, “I’ll take the red.”  
The grin that stretched across Samson’s haggard face was anything but comforting. He snapped his fingers and one of the other men in the room stepped forwards, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and picking up the lyrium, preparing it.   
Cullen watched the man warily, “I have to inject it?”  
Samson eyed him, dark amusement playing behind his eyes, “scared of needles, are you?”  
“No” Cullen insisted, eyes still on the man, watching as the needle slowly filled with bright red liquid. The song was getting louder, setting his teeth on edge “I just-“  
Samson rolled his eyes, “snorting dulls the high. Gotta get it straight in your blood stream.”  
Cullen felt his panic rising. He took a step back, “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want it.”  
Samson sighed, “you sure, Rutherford? Chance won’t present itself again.”  
“Yes” Cullen nodded fervently, taking another step back, “sorry.”  
Samson pursed his lips, nodding. His gaze left Cullen, moving over his shoulder. Cullen suddenly felt hands wrap around his wrists, tight and constricting. He cried out as he was slammed down against the desk, one arm bent painfully upwards behind his back, the other stretched out and pinned down. He struggled, but it was futile, the men held him fast. Samson’s face appeared in front of him, that wicked humour back in his eyes.  
“Sorry Cullen” he croaked, “boss says we gotta get as many on red as possible. Orders are orders, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”  
Cullen tried to move away, wincing as the hands holding him tightened, an elbow pressing sharply in between his shoulder blades, making his breathing shallow and painful. He gasped as he felt hands wrap around his waist, his belt jingling as someone unbuckled it. Solona came into view, her face passive as she wrapped the belt around his bicep, the leather biting into his skin as she tightened it.   
“Please” he whimpered. She looked at him, the eyes he’d once gazed into lovingly now devoid of anything. She studied him for a moment before retreating.   
The man who was preparing the syringe turned, holding it loosely at his side. Cullen watched him struggling in vain as he drew closer, a tear escaping his eye as he gritted his teeth. The red called to him, screaming at him to submit. It made him feel sick.  
“Suppose you’re used to a little manhandling” Samson sneered from somewhere behind him, “judging from this.” Cullen yelped as he felt fingers push hard into the bruise on his jaw, grinding the swollen skin over the bone.   
The man with the syringe now stood over him. Cullen manage to turn his head enough to look at him, heart clenching at the sight of Carroll, who glared down at him, bloodshot eyes boring into his.   
“Please” he tried again, voice even weaker than before, “pl-“  
His protest morphed into a gasp as the needle was jammed into his arm. He groaned as he felt the lyrium being pushed into him, the sound somewhere between pleasure and pain as heat began to pool in his arm. The belt was unbuckled, and Cullen let out a low moan as he felt the lyrium begin to slither up into the rest of his bloodstream. It was hotter than blue, making his skin prickle and ache as it worked its way through him. He gasped as it clawed its way up his spinal cord, ripping into his head.   
The hands holding him down released him and he stumbled back, only just catching himself before he collapsed. He stayed doubled over for a second, trying to process this new sensation. It felt like his blood was on fire, a thousand needles making his skin itch and his eyes burn. But under all that, overriding it all, was pure, unfettered power. If he’d thought lyrium had given him euphoria, then this was Maker given bliss. He slowly straightened, all his fear gone, replaced by gratitude. He smiled at Samson, wide and genuine. He had been right. This was a high like nothing else. Samson grinned back at him, hungry glee clear on his face, except, Cullen felt no repulsion now, just understanding.   
“Good, isn’t it?” Samson asked, smug.  
Cullen nodded feverishly. He felt strong, invincible. Samson cackled, clicking his fingers at Carroll. Carroll stepped forwards, pushing a bag of red into Cullen’s hand. He held it tight, eyes widening as he felt his blood _reaching_ for it, desperate to pull it in. It was like the lyrium was alive.   
Suddenly, he felt hands wrap around his biceps. He was yanked forwards, feet almost lifting off the ground as he was pulled past Samson. A back door was opened and he was shoved out, almost sending him flying as he stumbled onto the wet pavement.   
“Come back soon, yeah?” Samson crowed out at him. Then the door was slammed shut and Cullen was alone. He straightened up, unable to keep the broad smile from his face. He glanced down at the bag of red in his hand. It wasn’t like blue, which coaxed him and embraced him like a lover. Red was more demanding. It took him, made him its own, and he wanted to submit.   
The thought of Dorian swam into his mind, and Cullen suddenly found himself consumed by lust. He _wanted_ Dorian, wanted to take him, feel him down to his bones. _Go_ , the lyrium urged him, whispering in the back of his mind, pushing him forwards with phantom limbs, _go to him._ Cullen nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets and setting off.  


***  


Amaranthine was fairly quiet, most who were still out were in the few bars that were situated along the winding streets that branched off from the main square. Cullen strode straight across the square, a bounce in his step, pace quickening as his mind was filled with Dorian, imagining his face as he came undone under him.   
Something bumped into his shoulder, sending him staggering back a little, pulling him from his thoughts. A group of men stood looking at him, one smiling sheepishly at him, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.  
“Sorry, mate” he mumbled, “di’nt see yeh there.”  
Cullen glared, teeth clenching hard, jaw locking. The man shrunk back, raising his hands in submission. Cullen barely noticed, aggression bubbling up so rapidly inside him that it felt like he would burst.  
“You ever” he growled, “fucking touch me again, and I’ll rip your throat out.”  
The man’s friends stepped forwards, “you want t’try that again, do you?”  
Cullen raised his eyes to them, anger searing through him even more strongly. He stepped forwards, hands clenching into fists. He fought to keep them at his sides, but the whispers in the back of his head were hissing at him to fight.   
He opened his mouth to retort, an incendiary comment on the tip of his tongue, when they were all bathed in blue and red flashing lights. He straightened up, squinting as he looked over at the lights, which sat atop a Seeker car that was driving slowly through the square.   
“You’re all lucky” he spat, turning his back on the men, stalking off before they could respond. He wound his way through the dark streets, not needing the dim light the streetlamps provided as he navigated his way home by muscle memory. The entire time he walked, he relayed the almost fight over and over in his head, working himself up. He had wanted to fight, wanted to feel the crunch as his fist connected with their faces. His skin itched and burned, the built-up tension fighting for release. He muttered to himself, eyes on the ground as he drew closer to home.   
Cullen was still hissing at himself when he finally made it to his front door. He opened it up, quietly locking it behind himself.   
“Fuck” he groaned, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He looked at the front door for a moment and then, without thinking, smacked his head into it, sending pain shooting through his forehead and along his temples. It felt good- a release. He did it again. And again. He drove his head over and over into the door, teeth gritting with the sensation.  
“Cullen?”  
He turned, feeling blood begin to trickle down his face, burning as it slid into his eye. Dorian stood in the doorway to the front room, eyes wide as he took in Cullen. Cullen grinned, striding over to Dorian, sweeping the mage up into his arms.  
“No!” Dorian shouted, leaning away, “put me down!”  
Cullen complied, confused, lust rolling through him, urging him to scoop Dorian up into his arms and take him then and there, “what’s wrong, love?”  
Dorian stared at him incredulously, shaking his head. He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh, “we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Is My Mind? - The Pixies


	28. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so difficult to write, omg. Most of the past few chapters have flowed quite naturally, whereas this one I have been working on for over a week, writing and rewriting over and over. So, I'm sorry if this one feels a little stiff.
> 
> That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! As always I love hearing feedback! Comments and kudos give me life :3
> 
> TW: rough sex

“What do you want to talk about?”  
Dorian couldn’t believe the words that had come out of Cullen’s mouth. He stared, incredulous, as Cullen looked at him expectantly, absently wiping at the blood trickling sluggishly down his forehead.   
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dorian spluttered, gesturing at his boyfriend.  
Cullen merely shrugged, scratching his bicep, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was so _off_. Dorian could feel his skin crawling as he looked at Cullen; he tried to ignore the sensation.  
“Well” Dorian began, crossing his arms firmly back over his chest, “why don’t we start with where you’ve been.”  
A mild scowl graced Cullen’s features, his golden eyes hooded as they swept over Dorian, the warmth gone from his face. He didn’t respond, silently daring Dorian to go on.  
Dorian continued, unperturbed, “I came home from the studio at 2AM, Cullen. That was _two hours_ ago” he struggled to keep his voice even, “where did you fucking go?”  
Cullen scoffed, leaning back against the front door, lifting his chin arrogantly, “what are you, my keeper? I’m an adult, Dorian.”  
“I’m well aware” Dorian snapped, “yet the fact still remains that I do worry about you. I was willing to forgive this last night, but pulling this shit again is very much pushing it.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, pushing off the door. He shoved his hands into his pockets, sending Dorian staggering as he pushed past, storming further into the house. Dorian followed him, temper flaring, “it’s not as if you have the greatest track record.”  
Cullen stopped in his tracks, wheeling back around. His face was dark, and with how close he was, Dorian could see how bloodshot his eyes were, “what do you mean by that?”  
Again, Dorian found himself simply staring at Cullen, astounded by his obliviousness. Unfortunately for Cullen, this amazement did nothing to help his mood. “I’m saying, you” he growled, jabbing a finger into Cullen’s chest, “have a habit of disappearing.”  
The hurt that crossed Cullen’s face was swallowed in a second by deep scowl. When he spoke, his voice was husky with barely controlled anger, “that’s a low blow. Even for you.”  
“I wouldn’t be able to say it if there wasn’t some truth to it” Dorian spat back.  
Cullen’s eyes flicked up, amber meeting storm grey. The twist to his mouth was more than just angry, it was mean, “ever thought maybe I just needed to get away from _you_?”  
Dorian gasped, eyes going wide. He took a step back from Cullen, who stared at him, unrelenting. His chest felt hollow, his cheeks hot and flushed. He tried to call back his anger, desperate not to show how much that had stung. “Fine” he said acerbically, managing to keep the waver out of his voice, “I’ll just give you some space then, shall I?”  
Without waiting for a response, Dorian stalked past Cullen, darting into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He felt his eyes begin to swim, but he ignored it, snatching his bag up and throwing it onto the bed. He ripped open his set of drawers, blindly grabbing clothes, tossing them over his shoulder in the general direction of his bag.   
“What are you doing?”  
Dorian spun around. Cullen stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, face blank as he stared at the bag. Dorian shrugged, turning back to the drawers, “you said you needed to get away. I’ll do it for you.”  
Cullen sighed somewhere behind him. He tensed as he heard footsteps getting closer, freezing completely when he felt Cullen’s arms wind around his waist. “You know I didn’t mean it” Cullen breathed, his lips brushing against Dorian’s throat.   
Dorian’s skin prickled. He turned, now pinned against the chest of drawers, “no” he snarled, “I didn’t know that. It’s as if I don’t even know _you_ right now. Because this” he swept his eyes over Cullen, “isn’t you.”  
Cullen sneered, leaning in close, his nose almost brushing Dorian’s, “sorry, love. This is me.”  
“No” Dorian hissed, staring into Cullen’s bloodshot eyes, “the Cullen I know doesn’t break promises. Doesn’t say things just to be hurtful.”  
“I don’t know what to tell you.”  
Dorian placed his hands on Cullen’s shoulders, twisting his fingers in the fur of his hood, “tell me what’s going on” he pleaded, a slight sharpness to his voice. He let his hands drift up to Cullen’s face, taking a deep breath, “are you high?”  
“No!” Cullen cried, wrenching his face away, “I’m not…” he growled, running his hands through his hair, “I’m not fucking high.”  
“Well, good” Dorian sighed, “I’m glad. But” he reached out tentatively, taking a hold of Cullen’s hand, “you need to tell me what’s going on.”  
Cullen huffed, absently scratching at his bicep, “there was… an incident. On the train” he said finally. He scowled, eyes on the ground, “this mage, Anders” he spat the name, his scratching getting more violent, “he was at Kirkwall. He attacked me and I cast a Silence.”   
Dorian couldn’t help the soft “oh” that escaped him.  
Cullen licked his teeth, voice low, “he told me that I was a murderer. He was going to kill me, Dorian.”  
Dorian’s eyes went wide, “Maker, you didn’t-“  
“I didn’t kill him” Cullen snapped, “but I wish I had. He was pushing me and yelling at me. His magic…”  
Dorian reached forwards, pulling Cullen into a hug. The blond was tense, his body trembling against Dorian’s, hands fisted at his sides. Dorian tried to soothe him, everything making sense; Cullen’s weird behaviour, his absences.  
“I’m sorry for smothering you” he murmured, tucking Cullen’s head into the crook of his shoulder, “and I’m sorry for accusing you of using.”  
Cullen rocked against him, hands clenched in Dorian’s shirt. The mage carded his fingers through Cullen’s messy hair, fighting against the shame he could feel riding up through him. He lifted his head a little when he heard Cullen mumble something, gently tilting the other man’s chin up.  
“What was that, Amatus?”  
Cullen chewed on his lip, brow furrowing as he stared at the ground, “I’m sorry.”  
Dorian frowned, pulling Cullen in to an even tighter hug, hushing him. He could still feel the tension rolling off Cullen, the tremors in his fists. Dorian could feel his heart breaking at the sound of Cullen’s hitched breaths.   
“Come on” he whispered, leaning back to look at Cullen’s face, “we’ll get you cleaned up, hm?”  
Cullen glanced up, touching the congealed blood on his forehead, eyes going wide in surprise. He nodded, staring at his bloodied fingers. Dorian grimaced, gently trying to push Cullen towards the bathroom.   


***  


Dorian sat Cullen down on the bathtub, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he dug around in the cabinet under the sink. He finally found the little first aid kit, pulling it out and putting it on the sink as he straightened up.  
“So” he began reluctantly, pouring some iodine onto a cloth, “are you going to tell me where you went?” He noticed Cullen bristling and quickly added, “I don’t mean to sound suspicious; it just worries me knowing you were wandering around in this… state.”  
Cullen groaned, leaning forwards onto his elbows, “I had to get out” he stated, “I… I ended up wandering around the docks.”  
Dorian grimaced, telling himself that Cullen had no reason to lie, even when there was something about the blond’s demeanour that felt so wrong. He tried to push the thought out of his head, gently twining his fingers in the hair at the nape of Cullen’s neck.  
“Tilt your head back a little” he murmured, “and I’m sorry, but this is going to sting.”  
Cullen did as he said, letting his eyes slide closed as he lifted his chin. Dorian took the iodine soaked cloth, dabbing at the gash on Cullen’s forehead. Cullen didn’t move or wince, sitting like a rock as Dorian cleaned his wound. The mage felt his stomach churning as the blood began to drip again, soaking through the cloth and onto his palm.   
After a few swipes the blood was cleaned, revealing a thin split on Cullen’s forehead, “you’re lucky. It doesn’t need stitches.” He picked up a little bandage, sticking it over the wound. He inspected his handiwork, feeling the slightest bit of nausea when the blood soaked a little through the bandage.  
“I love you” Cullen said suddenly.  
Dorian blinked, tearing his eyes away from the wound, unable to stop a soft smile from curling his lips. “I love you too” he breathed, “and I’ll always support you” he shifted awkwardly, lacing his fingers with Cullen’s, “you… you need to tell me these things, Amatus. You don’t have to suffer alone.”  
Something like panic flashed in Cullen’s eyes, but it was gone before Dorian could properly register it. “I know, love”.  
Dorian decided to push it a little further, relenting to the niggle in the back of his head, “is there, you know, anything else you need to tell me?”  
Cullen looked directly into Dorian’s eyes, not saying anything. Dorian waited, chewing on his lip. Finally, Cullen broke the eye contact, “no. There’s nothing.”  
Dorian couldn’t help the disappointment that twisted in his gut. “Alright” he stated, standing up. He began to collect the first aid supplies, “we should go to bed.” When Cullen didn’t move, Dorian rolled his eyes. He took Cullen’s hands into his, pulling him to his feet.  
Cullen hovered in the doorway as Dorian wandered into the bedroom. Dorian could feel his partner’s eyes on him as he began to undress, shuddering a little under his gaze. Once he was nude, he quickly slipped under the covers, brow furrowing when Cullen flicked the light off. He heard Cullen draw closer, the quiet shifting of fabric indicating that he was undressing. Dorian could already feel his eyes growing heavy when the mattress dipped under Cullen’s weight.   
Dorian flinched when he felt an arm slide around his waist, but he felt himself almost melting as the blond pulled him against him, Cullen’s hard, nude torso pressed to his back. He sighed in contentment, feeling sleep begin to settle in even more as Cullen’s heat soaked through his skin.  
Suddenly, Cullen’s hand began to dip lower, skimming over his hip bones. Dorian gasped, tension coiling slowly in his stomach as Cullen’s fingers brushed the sensitive skin on his navel.   
“Cullen” he groaned. But that was all he had time to say. Cullen flipped him over, lips clashing with his. Dorian groaned, twisting his fingers in Cullen’s hair. Cullen’s hands gripped at him, hard enough that it bordered on painful, sending a wave of exhilaration through Dorian.  
“I want you” Cullen growled, his voice low and guttural. Dorian gasped as Cullen leaned down, biting his throat.  
Dorian saw stars as Cullen’s teeth dragged against his sensitive skin, “then take me” he breathed.  
Cullen wasted no time. It was like it had never been before between them. Cullen was rough, his hands and lips greedy, taking as much of Dorian as he wanted. Dorian completely surrendered to Cullen, letting himself slip into a haze.   


***  


Dorian lay panting, curled up in Cullen’s arms. He could feel his body aching, bruises already beginning to form on his legs and hips. It had been so different, Cullen had been intense in a way he had never been before. It had been much more like the fucking Dorian had been used to before, not so much the intimate love that he and Cullen usually had. He wasn’t sure if he liked the change or lamented it.   
Cullen seemed barely affected, his breathing even and quiet. He gently stroked Dorian, touch teasing at the mage’s spent body. Dorian twitched under Cullen’s fingers, muscles sore and tired. He grumbled as he felt Cullen’s hands begin to slide lower.  
“Please, Amatus” he laughed, gently pulling Cullen’s hand up, cradling it against his chest, “I don’t think I can take any more.”  
Cullen whined, but relented, instead pulling Dorian tighter against his chest. As Cullen’s fingers began to card through his hair, Dorian quickly felt sleep begin to take him again. He yawned, stretching out against Cullen’s body, feeling the dull ache in his muscles.   
“I’m sorry” Cullen mumbled.  
“Don’t be daft” Dorian sighed, voice heavy with exhaustion, “you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”  
“I… okay”.  
Dorian smiled sleepily, curling up tight against Cullen. Everything was alright, he knew that. The air was cleared, there was nothing unspoken between them. In a final, conscious movement, Dorian pushed the niggle from his head. He trusted Cullen, loved Cullen. Dorian’s final thought before he surrendered to sleep wasn’t so much a tangible idea, more a single, fleeting image: he and Cullen, greying, holding hands as they watched their child play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blind- Placebo


	29. Won't Want For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satinalia!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I know it's like... four months late for a Christmas chapter, but, it's almost Winter here in Australia so close enough?
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the new chapter! I'm so excited to be near the end but also kind of sad; I don't want it to end! I do have plans for another Cullrian fic after this one is finished, so if you enjoyed Ball and Chain, I hope you'll check it out :)
> 
> I love any feedback, and enjoy reading :)

Dorian pulled another string of tinsel out of the cardboard box, climbing up onto the little step ladder and sticking it over the loungeroom doorway. Happy that it was secure, he dropped down, admiring his handiwork. The lounge room looked festive; red pillows were arranged neatly on the couch, strings of glass snowflakes glittered in the window, and the pine tree sat in the centre of the room, overflowing with tinsel and baubles. Satinalia had finally arrived. Dorian turned to the pot belly fireplace, picking up a few of the logs sitting beside it and shoving them in. He flicked his wrist, making the tinder spark, flames quickly bursting to life. In an instant the fire was crackling, casting heat out. Dorian sat down on the floor in front of it, soaking in the warmth.  
The creak of the front door sounded Cullen’s return home. Dorian jumped up, darting out into the hallway. Cullen stomped in, snow dusting his shoulders, bag slung over his shoulder. Dorian grinned, bounding up to him, throwing himself into Cullen’s arms.   
“Finally” he cried, “you’re home!”  
Cullen chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, tightening his arms around Dorian, “indeed I am, love.”  
Dorian reached up, pulling Cullen down into a hard kiss. He giggled against the blond’s lips as he felt his feet leave the ground, held up by Cullen’s tight embrace. When he finally felt his feet brush the floor again Dorian quickly ran around behind Cullen, scrambling up onto his back, clasping his hands over the blond’s eyes.  
Cullen laughed, looping his arms under Dorian’s legs, holding him up with ease, “what are you doing?”.  
“I can’t let you peek” Dorian teased, “now mush! Forward, my steed, to the lounge room!”  
Cullen didn’t move, and Dorian could feel his eyebrow raise under his palm.   
“Please Cullen, would you kindly ferry us both into the loungeroom” he amended, rolling his eyes. Cullen huffed a laugh, carrying Dorian into the loungeroom.   
Once in there, Dorian jumped down, “keep your eyes closed!”. He stepped to Cullen’s side, taking a hold of his hand, excitement bubbling in his chest, “now, open!”  
Cullen grinned wide, bloodshot eyes lighting up as they swept over the room, “it looks amazing, Dorian.”  
Dorian sighed as he felt Cullen’s arms wrap around his waist, leaning back as he felt Cullen’s face settle into the crook of his neck. He snuggled further into Cullen’s embrace, smiling to himself as he felt Cullen’s arms tighten.  
“It’s been years since I’ve had a proper Satinalia” Cullen mused, hand drifting lazily over Dorian’s chest, “thank you.”  
Dorian smiled, watching as Cullen moved out from behind him, wandering over to the tree. Cullen crouched down, tugging his bag off his shoulder and beginning to rifle through it.   
“What’s that?”  
Cullen grinned at Dorian over his shoulder, a little wrapped box in his hand. He put it under the tree, next to the present that Dorian had stowed there earlier, “you’ll find out at midnight.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “you’re no fun.”  
Cullen chuckled, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, “forgive me, love.” He wandered back over to Dorian, looping an arm around his waist, “are Bull and Sera coming tonight? It’s been a while since we’ve seen them.”  
Dorian grimaced, “they already had plans.”  
Cullen nodded, pressing a kiss to Dorian’s hair. The mage felt a stab of guilt in his gut; he hated lying. Cullen didn’t let him dwell, however, and Dorian smiled as Cullen pulled him into a tight hug. He squirmed as Cullen peppered his neck with kisses, stubble ticking his throat. Cullen snickered, biting at Dorian’s ear, making the mage gasp.  
“Cullen” Dorian laughed, catching Cullen’s wrists as his hands slid lower, “later.”  
The blond whined, clenching his hands in Dorian’s shirt, pulling him in even closer, “I’ll hold you to that.”  
Dorian laughed, extricating himself from Cullen’s arms. He turned around, swinging his hips as he drifted towards the kitchen, sending a quick wink as beckoned for Cullen to follow.  


***  


The sauce bubbled as Dorian stirred it on the stove, the smell of tomato wafting through the kitchen. Cullen stood beside him, chopping vegetables, sweeping them onto a baking tray. The domesticity that the pair shared was something that Dorian loved; the silence that stretched comfortably between them as they enjoyed each other’s company. Dorian turned when he heard Cullen wince, eyes widening in alarm at the sight of the blond leaning over the bench, head ducked and knife clenched so tight in his fist that his knuckles were white. Dorian reached out, placing a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, squeezing.  
“Amatus, what’s wrong?” he gasped, voice strained with alarm.  
Cullen’s face was pinched in pain, sweat beading on his forehead. He turned, red eyes wild. He didn’t respond, instead almost throwing the knife down, rushing from the kitchen. Dorian stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. He heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed by silence. He absently stirred, eyes on the kitchen door, listening hard. As each minute passed, the only sound being the spitting of the pot and the occasional car outside, Dorian grew more antsy. When five minutes dragged by, the mage made a move to check on Cullen, only to be stopped by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.   
Cullen strode back into the bathroom, running his hands over his torso. He loped over to Dorian, curling him into a tight embrace, brushing long kisses to the mage’s bronze skin.  
“Maker, Cullen” Dorian tried to turn, but found himself held tight in Cullen’s arms, “what happened?”  
“Back flared up” he answered simply, hands beginning to pull at Dorian’s shirt, tracing his hip bones.  
Dorian finally succeeded in turning around, placing his hands on Cullen’s face, assessing him. The blond looked far more at ease, a wide smile pulling at his scarred lips; yet his amber eyes were even more bloodshot than earlier.   
“Are you alright?”  
Cullen rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s waist, pulling the mage in, “I feel fine, Dorian. Nay, I feel _great_.”  
Dorian raised an eyebrow, unable to stop his lip curling up, “…nay?”  
Cullen grinned, “yes. Nay.” He suddenly smacked his hands hard on Dorian’s arse, squeezing roughly, “you’re not the only one allowed to use fancy words.”  
Dorian squeaked, steadying himself against Cullen, scowling playfully up at the blond, “I don’t think I have _ever_ said nay.”  
“Huh. Guess I’m more intellectual than you.”  
Before Dorian could voice his scathing response, Cullen had crowded him, swallowing his retort with a hard kiss. Dorian willingly surrendered, turning to putty against Cullen’s lips. The blond’s kisses were edged with a possessiveness that had never been there before; proving to Dorian that he was his.   
Dorian suddenly heard a sizzling sound. He cast an eye to the side, making a groan of annoyance as he realised it was the sound of his sauce burning. He gently pushed Cullen off, quickly stirring before he completely ruined the dinner. Cullen whined behind him, insistent hands trying to turn Dorian’s face back towards him.  
 Dorian laughed, swatting Cullen away, “you daft man, don’t you want to eat tonight?”  
Cullen shot him a wicked grin, letting a hand drift down Dorian’s spine before he turned back to the chopping board. Dorian smiled, feeling warmth blooming in his chest, the gentle bump of his elbows against Cullen’s as they worked next to each other sending a soft spark through him.   
The pair finished cooking in intimate silence, letting their hands brush over each other as they served up. Bowls in hand they walked into the loungeroom, settling down next to each other on the couch.  
“How long has it been since you’ve had a ‘proper’ Satinalia?” Dorian asked, eyes on the tree as he began to eat.  
Cullen chewed for a moment, eyes staring forward sightlessly as he thought, “four years? Maybe five. I used to go home for it.”  
Dorian nodded, gesturing for Cullen to continue. Cullen huffed in pretend annoyance, setting his fork down, “my family would have a huge feast each year. My father loved to cook, and he’d always let us help. Well, pretend to, anyway. Mum made sure we set aside a week to celebrate.”  
Dorian chuckled, “it sounds like your family was very Ferelden. Though I’m not surprised, looking at you.”  
“They were” Cullen admitted, smiling, “once I joined the Templars and I wasn’t able to get time off to see them, mum would always make sure to send me part of the gingerbread house.”  
Dorian hummed in amusement, eyes down, “why did you stop going?” he asked, tentative.  
Cullen’s smile disappeared in an instant, twisting into a scowl, “my parents passed. My siblings didn’t know how to deal with me after Kirkwall.” He stabbed his fork angrily into his bowl, “they tried to push me into recovery before I was ready. I got into a fight with my brother and they kicked me out. I haven’t talked to them since.”  
Dorian grimaced, reaching out and squeezing Cullen’s hand, “I’m sorry.”  
Cullen shrugged, face neutral once again, “what about yours?”  
Dorian barked a sarcastic laugh, turning to see Cullen’s confused expression, “there wasn’t really a tradition like yours in my home. My parents would throw lavish parties, and I would be expected to either disappear for its entirety, or else I was paraded around so my father could show off my magical aptitude” his scowl twisted into a rueful smile, “I did impress my father once, however. When I was around 9 there was a particular magister who kept critiquing my technique; I think I responded with something along the lines of, “if you worried about your clothes as much as you did my magic you may not look so much like a soporati”. Unfortunately, father didn’t find that wit as endearing as I grew older.”  
Dorian squeaked when Cullen suddenly grabbed him, only just managing to set his bowl down on the coffee table before he was pulled into the blond’s lap. Cullen peppered kisses over his neck and face, squeezing him tight.   
“We don’t need family” he whispered fiercely, breath tickling Dorian’s ear, “we can be each other’s family.”  
The image of he and Cullen with a child swam back into Dorian’s mind, and he couldn’t help the small, vulnerable smile that curled his lips, “oh?”  
Cullen nodded, cradling Dorian to his chest. Dorian was taken aback by the intensity in Cullen’s eyes as he looked down at him. Cullen leaned down, kissing him deep. The kiss made Dorian’s head spin. Cullen pulled back a little, breath brushing over Dorian’s lips, “we can make Satinalia our own.”  


***  


Dorian lay sprawled over Cullen on the couch, their clothes dishevelled, hair in a wild mess. The soft glow of mage lights lit the room, floating up near the ceiling, adding to the orange cast of the fire place. When Dorian had cast the lights, Cullen had laughed and called him dramatic. Dorian had insisted that, on the contrary, he was romantic.   
As a bad holiday movie played on the TV, Dorian could barely keep his eyes open. He let himself slip further into the space between Cullen’s torso and the couch, feeling his body grow heavier as sleep pulled him under.  
“Wake up!”  
Dorian jolted into awareness, body shaking. He blinked blearily, realising that Cullen was shaking him, huge grin on his face. Dorian swatted his hands away.  
“What do you want?” he groused, already letting his eyes close again.  
Cullen yanked him forwards, “it’s midnight! Time to open the presents!”  
Dorian groaned, leaning forwards limply, rubbing his eyes. He pulled himself up, limbs like lead as he dragged himself to the tree. Taking a minute to properly wake up, Dorian felt around under the tree, hand closing around the box he was looking for. Pulling out the silver wrapped present, he handed it to Cullen, smiling at the way the blond’s face lit up as he appraised it.  
Cullen tore at the paper, making Dorian chuckle at his eagerness, staring in awe at the contents of the present. The little marble chess set had called to Dorian when he’d seen it in a shop window. Part of him had been worried at giving such a personal present, but Cullen’s expression melted any fear.  
“Thank you” Cullen gasped, gently prising open the magnetic board, staring at the little pieces.  
Dorian smiled, “I remembered you mentioned you used to play. I thought maybe I could beat you sometime.”  
Cullen grinned wryly, “I’d be keen to destroy you.”  
“Is this still about chess?”  
Cullen chuckled, “I love it, Dorian. Thank you.” He then set down the chess set, with the care one would use putting down a glass sculpture, before jumping up and rifling under the tree. He snatched up the little box he’d brought home, depositing it into Dorian’s hand. Dorian carefully unwrapped the paper, eyes going wide at the little velvet box.  
“Cullen” he breathed, “this is a Montiliyet…”  
Cullen laughed, “I know. _Open it_.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, carefully opening the box. He gasped, staring at the contents. He carefully pulled it out, sliding the ring onto his finger. It was heavy, gold shaped into a serpent, curling around his finger. Two emeralds flickered up at him, set into the snake’s eyes.  
“It’s beautiful, Amatus” he murmured, staring in wonder as the gold shone in the firelight, “thank you.”   
Cullen grinned, and Dorian leaned forwards, taking the blond’s face in his hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. The ring felt heavy on his finger. Comfortable, but noticeably there. He liked how it made him feel grounded, kept his feet on the ground. He supposed in that way, it was like Cullen. The thought made him breath a soft laugh against Cullen’s lips.  


***  


“Cullen 2, Dorian 0!”  
Dorian glared at Cullen over the chessboard, loading as much loathing into it as he could as the blond set up the chessboard again.  
“I will win this time” he growled, adjusting a piece that Cullen had placed too far to the right.  
“I’m sure” Cullen laughed, leaning his chin onto his fist, “though I think you’d find it far easier if you didn’t cheat.”  
Dorian gasped in mock affront, “me? Cheat?”  
Cullen chuckled, rolling his eyes over the rim of his coffee cup as he took a sip. As much as Dorian wanted to beat Cullen, he was slowly realising his chess abilities weren’t as good as he’d remembered. Cullen was also ridiculously good; he showed a flair for strategy that Dorian had never expected. Dorian had quickly had to resort to cheating to stand any chance, though his losing streak showed that it wasn’t working.  
“Stop pouting” Cullen teased, taking one of Dorian’s pawns, “maybe I’ll let you win.”  
“Arrogance isn’t becoming on you” Dorian sniffed, though the cocky smile Cullen flashed him sent a shot of warmth to his gut. He leaned forwards, resting his lips against his steepled fingers, grey eyes surveying the chessboard. Already he was poised to lose. Dorian groaned, moving his rook forward. Cullen chuckled, fingers hovering over his pieces. His golden eyes flicked up, winking as he took Dorian’s queen. The mage glared.  
As Cullen’s eyes drifted back down to the board, Dorian’s didn’t leave him. He scrutinised his partner, really _looking_ at him as the dawn light began to seep in. Cullen looked tired; his cheeks were slightly gaunter, his skin just a little sallower, his lips dry. What worried Dorian most was the red skin under Cullen’s eyes, puffy and irritated. After a few more turns, he finally garnered a little courage.  
“Cullen” he began quietly.  
Cullen didn’t look up, offering a simple “hm?” as he stared at the chessboard.  
Dorian took a deep breath, “are you sure you’re okay?”  
Cullen shocked Dorian by laughing, “You won’t distract me that easily, love.”  
The mage frowned, “I’m not-“  
Cullen rolled his eyes, leaning forwards, “check mate. Even with all your cheating, you can’t beat me.”  
Dorian laughed weakly, unable to tear his gaze away from Cullen’s bloodshot eyes. That distinct feeling that something was wrong reared its ugly head, clawing away at the back of Dorian’s mind. But at the same time, Cullen _seemed_ good. The blond was grinning smugly, already setting up the board again.   
“You would tell me if something had happened, wouldn’t you?” Dorian hated how small his voice sounded.  
Cullen stopped in his movements, hand hovering over Dorian’s pieces. “Of course” he answered, not meeting Dorian’s eyes, “I wouldn’t keep anything from you.”  
Dorian grimaced, trying to ignore how false that sounded, “I know.”  
Cullen looked up, grinning wickedly, “ready for another game?”  
_Stop being so paranoid,_ Dorian told himself, gesturing for Cullen to start, _he would tell you. He promised. Trust him_. He smiled, pushing a pawn forward, trying to push the worry from his head.  
“I love you.”  
Cullen looked up, eyes wide for a moment before he softened, smiling, “I love you too, Dorian.”  
Dorian grinned back. _It’s fine,_ he hissed at himself, watching Cullen as he surveyed the board, _it’s fine, he’s fine, it’s fine_.   
Cullen suddenly reached forwards, taking Dorian’s hand in his own. Dorian looked up, melting just a little at the tender expression on Cullen’s face.    
“Everything is fine, Dorian.”  
Dorian smiled, running a hand through his hair, “I know, Amatus.” Cullen gave him a half smile, turning back to the game. Dorian sighed quietly. Cullen was right; everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't Want For Love- The Decemberists


	30. Firestarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen go out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter closer to the end!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter :) I love hearing back from you guys, and comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> TW: assault, strong language

Dorian lay sprawled over the couch, idly twirling a chess piece in the air as he read his book. The TV droned on in the background, the only sound aside from the occasional rustle of paper as he turned the pages. Dorian sighed, throwing down the book in frustration when he realised he’d been reading the same sentence over and over. The book landed with a _thud_ on the coffee table, knocking over a few of the chess pieces still on the board. He stood, waving a hand over the set, the pieces cleaning themselves up.   
Stretching out, joints popping, Dorian wandered towards the bedroom. He leaned against the doorway, staring appreciatively at the sight before him. Cullen was facing away from him, shirtless, back muscles rolling as he did push-ups. Dorian bit his lip, eyes trailing down Cullen’s form. The blond stopped after another two minutes or so, pushing himself onto his knees, brushing his damp hair back from his face.  
Dorian smirked, “don’t stop on my account.”  
Cullen’s head whipped around, grinning at Dorian, “enjoying the show?”  
“You could say that.”  
Cullen laughed, jumping up and darting over to Dorian. Dorian squeaked as his feet left the ground, bundled up in Cullen’s arms. His back collided with the wall, knocking the breath out of him, Cullen’s lips crashing into his before he could take a breath. The kiss was hard and insistent, Cullen’s lips greedy against his. Dorian gently broke the kiss, panting. Cullen stared at him, pupils blown wide, before ducking his head, taking Dorian’s lips again.  
Dorian laughed, trying to disentangle himself from Cullen’s arms. Cullen whined, trying to hold him tight, nibbling at Dorian’s throat.  
“Amatus” Dorian groaned, “I came in to ask you something.”  
“Mm?” Cullen’s lips didn’t leave Dorian’s throat, hands venturing up the mage’s shirt.  
Dorian huffed, trying to ignore the way Cullen’s fingers tickled at him, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out tonight. We’ve been cooped up at home far too long.”  
Cullen pulled back, grinning widely, “I’d love to.”  
Dorian smiled, looking at Cullen intently.  
“What?”  
“Well” Dorian chuckled, “you’re going to have to let me go if I’m to get ready.”  
Cullen frowned, “just go in what you’re wearing.”  
Dorian’s jaw dropped. He placed an indignant hand on his chest in mock affront, “go out in _this_? You wound me.” The blond rolled his eyes, holding his hands up and stepping back, smile playing on his lips. Dorian smirked, “there’s a good boy.”  
Though he yelped, he knew he deserved the swat on the arse he received for that comment.  


***  


The pair ended up at a bar, a few streets over from the centre of Denerim. Cullen was lost in the crowd, getting drinks, while Dorian sat at their table, alone. He’d managed an hour already, sipping on a rather disappointing soft drink, all the while watching the condensation rolling down Cullen’s beer glass. As hour two ticked by, however, he could feel his thirst growing. Tension rolled through Dorian, and though he tried to suppress it, the sound of glasses clinking and the drunken sloshing of drinks was setting his teeth on edge. _It’s a test,_ he tried to tell himself, fighting to unclench his teeth, _surviving tonight will prove how strong your resolve is_. He’d almost succeeded in relaxing when a woman bumped into him, spilling her drink over his shirt.  
“Sorry, love!”  
The smell of alcohol was pungent, soaking into his shirt. He breathed deeply, resisting the urge the urge to bury his nose in the fabric. The alcohol burned his nose deliciously, leaving the faintest trace on the back of his tongue. He so badly wanted a _drink.  
_ Dorian jerked his head up, shaking it, trying to push the scent from his head. Dragging his eyes away from the dark patch on his shirt, Dorian turned his gaze to the rest of the dimly lit bar. It was fairly busy, most tables taken. Most people were nondescript; lots of humans, a couple of elves, a dwarf awkwardly sequestered in a corner, watching a couple flirting with envy. When one table caught his eye, however, Dorian felt his stomach drop to the floor. Cailin leaned on a table, beer in hand, eyes on the crowd. His mouth moved quickly as he talked to his friend, words lost in the noise of the bar. Even in the low light of the bar, Dorian could see the thick scars that peeked out from the collar and sleeves of Cailin’s shirt. They were like thick red veins, reminders of Dorian’s last encounter with the man.  
Dorian tensed up, hands clenched onto the edge of the table. His breath left him, feeling like someone was crushing his throat as he fought to suck in air. Smoke started to twist up from his palms, the wooden tabletop burning underneath his fingertips.  
Cullen sat down heavily, putting down the two glasses with a _thunk_. Dorian’s head snapped up, heart beating painfully hard in his chest. Cullen took a sip of his beer, surveying Dorian over the rim of his glass.  
“Are you alright?”  
Dorian shook his head slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from Cailin, flashes of that night playing in his head. A phantom pain ached his ribs.  
Cullen leaned forwards, eyes widening with alarm, “what’s wrong, love? Tell me.”  
Dorian finally looked away from the pair, staring into Cullen’s bloodshot eyes. He shook his head again, unable to make words form. Fear rode through him, making his stomach churn nauseatingly. Cullen reached forwards, snatching Dorian’s hands up in his own. The mage tried to yank his hands away, fire still dancing over his skin in a thin film. Cullen held tight, unflinching as the flames soaked over his hands, leaving reddened blisters in their wake.  
“Tell me what’s wrong” Cullen demanded, staring intently at Dorian.  
“We need to leave” was all Dorian managed, voice small and choked.  
“ _Why_?”  
Dorian jerked his chin towards Cailin, still seated at his edge table. Cullen followed his gaze. He scowled, but turned back to Dorian, just a hint of tentativeness in his face.  
“What about him?”  
Dorian took a deep breath, his voice shaky and strained, “do you remember those bruises I had, months ago? The scar on my stomach?”  
Cullen cocked his head, brows furrowing in confusion. Then, realisation dawned. Cullen suddenly stood, sending his chair to the ground with a clatter. Dorian lurched forwards, grabbing Cullen’s arm.  
“Please don’t do anything” he begged, scrabbling to his feet, “please, let’s just leave.”  
Cullen looked down at him, and the expression on his face made Dorian shrink back, fear trickling cold down his spine. Cullen’s eyes were wild, veins popping out on his forehead.  
“He hurt you” he growled, eyes darting around, unable to focus, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”  
“No! Please!”  
Cullen wrenched his arm out of Dorian’s grip, storming over to Cailin. Dorian chased after him, grabbing at Cullen’s shirt.  
“Are you” Cullen started, voice rough with fury, “the _cunt_ that hurt my boyfriend?”  
Cailin looked up, confusion turning to anger when his eyes fell on Dorian. The mage shrank back, hand like a vice on Cullen’s arm. Cailin licked his teeth, eyes hooded as he glared up at Cullen, face blank with anger.  
“Yeah” he spat, “and I’ll beat the shit out of you too, fag.”  
“I’d like to see you try” Cullen growled, taking a step forwards.  
Dorian tugged Cullen back, holding him tight. Cullen took a few steps back, still staring down Cailin, hands clenched into trembling fists. His entire body shook, thick veins standing out on his neck, face flushed with fury. Dorian managed to pull him back another few steps, trying to slowly lead him away.  
Cailin snickered, turning his cold gaze onto Dorian, “not so cocky without your magic, are you, Vint?”  
Dorian shrunk even further back into himself, trying to steady his breathing. He could feel his mana coiling inside him, ready. But he couldn’t use it; not in the bar. Already a few of the people around them were watching warily.  
Cailin leaned forwards, tugging his shirt collar down, revealing even more of the scars Dorian had left, burned deep from where his magic had touched, “you’re gonna suffer for this, I promise you.”  
“Cullen” Dorian whispered, twisting his fingers in the blond’s shirt, “please. We need to go.”  
Cullen sighed, tearing his eyes from Cailin. He turned, moving further into Dorian’s space. Dorian relaxed a little, beginning to lead Cullen, trying to ignore Cailin’s laughter as it chased them out.   
“Watch out for Templars!” Cailin jeered, “I’ll be sending them to your doorstep.”  
Cullen suddenly spun around, tearing himself out from Dorian’s grasp. He darted over to Cailin, swinging his arm back, slamming his fist hard into the side of the man’s face.  
“Cullen!”  
Cailin cried out in a mixture of surprise and pain, stumbling back, holding his jaw. Cullen rolled his neck, grinning in sick satisfaction. Cailin tried to hit back, but Cullen ducked lithely under his arm, sending the man off balance. He rammed his shoulders into Cailin’s middle, slamming him into the ground. Cullen began to pummel him, driving his fists over and over again into Cailin’s face.   
Dorian rushed forwards, grabbing Cullen’s arm. He tried to pull him off, tears beginning to sting his eyes. Cullen didn’t look back, throwing Dorian off, sending him to the ground. Dorian landed hard on his back, winding him. He gasped for air, feeling pain shoot up along his spine. He looked to the side, eyes falling on Cailin’s friend, who was running back over with security.   
Dorian scrabbled back up to his feet, still short of breath. Cullen had Cailin by the throat; hands crushing tighter. Cailin’s eyes were wide, hands grasping and scratching uselessly at Cullen’s face. Cullen’s calm expression haunted Dorian.  
Two huge qunaris in black security tees ran over, wrapping their arms around Cullen’s middle and yanking him back. He stumbled back, maintaining his balance. Without hesitating, he bolted from the club, pushing other patrons in his wake. The two qunaris chased after him, disappearing into the throng.  
Dorian stood frozen, shocked. He chanced a glance at Cailin. The man was crumpled on the ground, chest heaving in shallow breaths. His face was bloodied and swollen, and dark marks were already beginning to bloom on his throat. Everyone was looking at him, not paying attention to Dorian. With a final look towards the bloodied man, Dorian disappeared into the fray, slipping out of the bar.  


***  


The front door was wide open when Dorian finally got home. He trudged inside, locking it behind himself. Cullen’s parka was thrown on the ground, blood black against the red fabric of the jacket. Dorian followed the trail of discarded clothing, mind blank.  
“Cullen?” he called, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.  
“In here!”  
Dorian wandered into the bathroom, finding Cullen at the sink, in nothing but his underwear, trying to wash his hands. He tsked, taking Cullen’s hands in his own, assessing the damage. Cullen’s hands were red and blistered from his own fire magic, and on top of that, his knuckles were bruised and swollen, the skin scraped away, half dried blood coating them. It looked as if Cullen had broken one of his pinkies, the finger fat and purple, bent at an odd angle. Dorian gently rinsed the blond’s hands, his own shaking at the sight of all the blood. He tried to push down his nausea, though it was harder as the water ran red in the sink. But, he couldn’t look Cullen in the eyes, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on his task. Dorian was vaguely aware of Cullen talking to him, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he chatted animatedly. The mage couldn’t hear, everything sounding as if he was listening through cotton wool.  
He gently worked a burn cream into Cullen’s palms before he bandaged his hands, binding Cullen’s left pinky to his ring finger. Once the job was done, blood beginning to soak through the bandages, he excused himself, leaving Cullen standing alone at the sink.  
He didn’t turn on the bedroom light, instead walking to bed in darkness. Dorian stripped in a daze, sliding under the covers and curling up into a ball. He was quickly overcome by tremors, his entire body trembling, making his teeth chatter. He didn’t know when he started crying, but all too quickly he couldn’t stop, soundless sobs making his body shudder violently.  
Cullen padded quietly into the room a while later. Dorian hurriedly wiped away his tears as the mattress dipped under Cullen’s weight, trying to stifle his whimpers. Cullen’s arms wrapped around Dorian’s middle, pulling him close. Dorian recoiled, flashes of Cullen’s fury vivid behind his closed eyelids, melding horrifically with bloodied fists and Cailin’s swollen face. More tears leaked out, adding to the wet patch on his pillow.  
Cullen leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to Dorian’s throat.   
“I love you” he whispered, warmth breath tickling, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”  
Dorian’s breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, “I love you too, Amatus.”  
Cullen hummed in contentment, resting his hand on Dorian’s stomach, bandages rough against the mage’s soft flesh. Dorian tried to keep still and silent as he cried himself to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firestarter- The Prodigy


	31. Stripsearch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian go to a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! And finally a longer one, too. Sorry for all the short ones recently.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far, all your feedback and kudos gives me motivation to keep going :)

The sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon when Cullen finally returned home from work. He could feel himself coming down, the hissing in his head getting louder as his need for a hit grew. Shutting the front door behind him, Cullen jumped when he realised Dorian was in the front room with him.  
“How was work, Amatus?” Dorian murmured, not lifting his eyes from the tablet in his hand. He lay across the sunlounge, papers and photos spread all over the little table in front of him.  
Cullen gritted his teeth, feeling the first of the aches beginning to twist his bones, “it was fine.”  
Dorian looked up, brow furrowing, “what’s wrong?”  
Cullen forced himself to smile, leaning down and brushing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead, “nothing, love. Just a long day.”  
Before Dorian could say anything else, Cullen straightened up, striding out of the front room. As soon as he was out of Dorian’s line of sight, Cullen all but ran to the bathroom. He just stopped himself from slamming the door shut behind him, locking it. His comedowns hit him so much harder on red. His entire body felt like it was hot and cold at the same time, his stomach flipping and churning, his head feeling as if it was going to explode.   
Cullen stumbled over to the toilet, trying to pry off a tile on the wall. The tile came loose, and Cullen reached into the uncovered cavity, pulling out the bag he’d stashed there. Even through the thick fabric, Cullen could hear the song; the screeching of the red, crying out to him, demanding him to take it. He held it with trembling hands, staring down at the benign looking bag.  
Cullen looked up, starting when his reflection stared back at him. He hadn’t looked at himself in so long, and he didn’t exactly recognise the face in the mirror. His cheeks were just a little sunken, dark shadows stretched under his cheek bones. His hair didn’t look as curly as it had, hanging in limp waves. What was most alarming were his eyes; the inflamed, sore skin that rimmed his eyes.   
Suddenly, Cullen started crying. Tears brimmed over before he even realised what was happening, and in an instant, silent tears turned to sobs.  
“I don’t want to.”  
The quiet, broken whisper was almost too soft for Cullen himself to hear. But he didn’t need to; this was the routine now. Every time he’d come down from red, this was what he became. A broken, sobbing mess, begging himself not to do it. It was why he tried to avoid coming down; every time he disappointed himself.   
Coming down from blue had been like coming down from a good mood. Everything seemed a little greyer. Everything was just that much harder. Coming down from red was like waking up. It felt like Cullen had been vacant. Gone from his own body, with just dream-like snippets of what had happened when he’d been high. The snatches of memory, the tiny pieces of feeling of what happened when he was on red terrified him.   
Cullen shoved the bag into the sink in disgust, cringing at the shriek of the red. He turned the shower on, yanking off his clothes. He shivered as the cold water pelted against his skin, stepping into the cubicle. Slowly, Cullen curled in on himself, tucking himself into a ball on the floor.   
“Don’t do it” he whispered to himself, voice hitching with his sobs, “don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.”  
He dug his fingernails into the soft skin of his shoulders, digging in, trying to keep himself grounded. Even when he was sober, it was like he was seeing and feeling everything through a haze. He felt too much and too little all at once, and with every second he could feel his conscience threatening to recede. To disappear into the fog.  
The sound of Dorian singing began to seep under the door. It was off key, and in Tevene, but still Cullen couldn’t stop listening to it. He felt himself relax a little, picturing Dorian wandering through the hallway, carrying his books. The song was one that Dorian had murmured to him before, on nights when terrors had kept him awake. The soft sound of Dorian’s voice in his ear had always helped him ground himself.  
All too quickly, the sound was gone, as Dorian opened the back door and shut it again, his voice lost behind the door. Cullen’s happy picture was gone, and he was left sitting on the floor of the shower, water running over his aching skin. He felt his breath hitch as a fresh wave of sobs took him.  
Even when he was sober, the song of red didn’t go away. The more he took it, the louder it got, rooted at the base of his neck, scratching at the inside of his skull. It constantly told him to take it. To succumb. And part of Cullen so badly wanted to. Every inch of his body cried for it, more than it ever had for blue. It was like he was made of it, like it was his oxygen. Every breath without it in his body was like he was sucking in nothing. Like he was choking.  
Cullen knew he was hurting himself. Every hit made it harder to quit. He could see the scabs that he left on himself. The efforts to pick out the needles that felt like they were growing under his skin. He reached up, picking up a washcloth. He hissed as the hot water soaked over his knuckles, burning the raw flesh. He began to scrub at his arms, yelping as he knocked off the scabbed skin, continuing to run the washcloth over and over, even as his skin reddened and the scabs bled. He just wanted to feel clean.  
A knock on the door stopped his mad scrubbing, making him jump.  
“Cullen?” Dorian called, voice muffled by the door, “you haven’t drowned in there, have you?”  
Cullen pushed himself to his feet, letting the washcloth drop to the floor, “I’m still alive” he laughed, “just soaking.”  
Cullen could hear the floorboards creak as Dorian shifted his weight, “well, you can’t soak for much longer, I’m afraid. Not if we’re going to be there fashionably late. I’d rather not be ordinary late.”  
Cullen gave a weak chuckle. He heard Dorian begin to walk away, and before even thinking about he called out, “Dorian?”  
“Hmm?”  
Cullen opened his mouth to respond but, what did he say? _I need your help_. _I’m sorry_. _I love you, but I did something really stupid. I’ve let you down again. I’m using again and I want to stop_. Cullen didn’t know what he wanted to finish with.  
“Cullen?”  
He sighed, leaning against the shower wall, “… do you think you could find my nice pair of jeans? I want to wear them tonight.”  
“Um” Dorian paused for a moment, the floorboards creaking again, “of course.”  
As Dorian walked away, Cullen could feel the last of his resolve slipping from his grip. He didn’t want to hurt Dorian, but how many times had he failed already? Could he really face Dorian, tell him he was going through withdrawals? Tell him that he’d been using again?  
As much as Cullen tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t chosen to take red, he couldn’t deny that he’d injected himself every time after that. He shuddered, feeling a fresh wave of pain breaking over him. What was the point in trying?  
He stepped out of the shower, walking to the sink with the weariness of a man stepping towards the gallows. He could feel that the red was killing him, twisting him inside and out. But he couldn’t deal with the pain. Couldn’t deal with reality anymore. The song calmed as he picked up the needle, almost cooing at him with its scratchy voices. Cullen watched the syringe with sickening fascination as the red liquid filled it, glowing and moving as if it was alive.  
The red was warm as it went in, quickly beginning to burn as it pooled. Cullen closed his eyes as he felt it begin to work its way through him. He felt himself slowly be pulled under, caressed by flaming hands as he went to sleep.  


***  


Cassandra’s First Day Eve party was already in full swing by the time Cullen and Dorian arrived. Dorian paused as they turned towards the house- if it could be called that- staring up in wonder.  
“You never told me that Cassandra was rich.”  
Cassandra’s home was huge. When Cullen had first seen it, it had been hard to see Cassandra- with her short hair, severe features and utilitarian clothing- in the ostentatious, three storey building looming over them.   
Cullen chuckled, “she’s technically Nevarran royalty.”  
Dorian gave him a scandalised look, “and she has the nerve to tease _me_ for being spoiled.”  
A wall of sound hit them as they walked through the front door. Cullen put a hand on the small of Dorian’s back, feeling possessive as a few eyes turned to the mage as they walked in. There were lots more people there than Cullen had expected, the room hot with their combined body heat. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Cullen could feel the tension Dorian was holding in his body. He pulled him aside, wrapping the mage in his arms, pressing kisses to his throat.  
“You alright?” he murmured, brushing his lips to the shell of Dorian’s ear.  
Dorian squirmed a little, shying away, “I’m fine. There’s just a lot of people here.”  
Cullen hummed in agreement, tracing his fingers over Dorian’s stomach. He reached up, gently brushing a knuckle to Dorian’s cheek. Dorian flinched away, his breath hitching. Cullen leaned forwards, brow furrowing.  
“Cullen!”  
His head snapped up, grinning at the sight of Cassandra striding towards them. He gently slipped out from behind Dorian, sweeping Cassandra up into a hug, swinging her around.  
“Cass!” he crowed, setting her back down, “I missed you.”  
She raised an eyebrow, giving him a hard side eye as she leaned in to Dorian, pecking him on the cheek.  
“You look gorgeous tonight, Cassandra” Dorian said, pulling her into a hug, “and you can’t call me spoiled any more. Clearly you’re far more like me than you let on.”  
Cassandra smirked, making a noise halfway between amusement and disgust, “I suppose not.”  
Cullen’s smile faded when she turned back to him, her amusement turning into a stern glare.  
“Why, Cullen” she began, voice firm, “has a security tape come across my desk? One in which a man who looks much like you is fighting another man.”  
Cullen instantly felt anger prickling up his spine. Dorian tensed beside him, hand clenching in the back of Cullen’s shirt. Cullen calmed a little, taking a deep breath through his nose.   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he answered stiffly.  
Cassandra stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. Cullen glared back, aware of how tight Dorian’s hand was holding his shirt.  
Finally, Cassandra sighed, breaking the eye contact, “fine” she reached out, taking Cullen’s hand, “promise me you will be careful.”  
Cullen smiled, squeezing her hand, “I always am, Cass.”  
She snorted, rolling her eyes. Dorian’s fist relaxed, leaving Cullen’s back.   
“So, how was your Satinalia?” Cassandra asked, “I’m sorry I was unable to see you.”  
Cullen grinned, wrapping an arm around Dorian and pulling him in close, “it was amazing. Dorian bought me a chess set.”  
Dorian smiled, ducking his head, “I couldn’t top your ring”. He reached out, showing Cassandra the glittering snake on his middle finger.  
Cullen grinned wickedly, “you can top me any time.”  
Dorian spluttered, and Cassandra’s eyes flew wide open, her cheeks flushing bright red.   
“Maker, Cullen” Dorian choked.  
“What’s got you so flustered, Kadan?” Bull suddenly boomed, emerging from the crowd. He slung an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, pulling her in close. She smiled, patting him on the chest.  
Cullen smiled up at the qunari, opening his mouth to respond. Suddenly, Dorian’s arm wound around his waist, yanking him away.  
“Come on.”  
Dorian pulled him through the crowd, shoving through people until Bull’s horns were lost. They ended up in the kitchen, which was far emptier than the rest of the house. Dorian took his hand away from Cullen’s waist, storming over to the drink table. Cullen’s eyes widened in alarm.  
“Dorian, what are you-“  
Dorian spun around, fixing Cullen with a glare, pouring soft drink into a glass, “what?”  
Cullen relaxed, rubbing the back of his neck, “nothing.”  
Dorian rolled his eyes, turning back to the table, “don’t worry. _I_ would actually tell you if I was at risk of relapsing.”  
Cullen bristled, stalking over to Dorian, “what’s that supposed to mean?”  
Dorian just shrugged, his head down. Cullen leaned forwards, trying to catch Dorian’s eye, but the mage refused to look at him.   
“Trouble in paradise?”  
Cullen stiffened. His temper flared, whispery voices beginning to swirl in his head. He turned, trying to fight the trembling of his hands as his eyes fell on Varric. The dwarf was giving him a stony glare, looking him up and down.   
“No trouble” Dorian laughed, giving Varric a wide grin, “just some tropical showers.”  
Varric didn’t seem to share in Dorian’s amusement, giving Cullen another dirty look. Cullen chewed his lip, slowly getting closer to telling the dwarf to fuck off.   
Varric turned to Dorian, “I miss you at the bookshop, Sparkler. Not quite the same without you.”  
Dorian snickered, “oh, I’m sure. Merrill will no doubt be lamenting the loss of our weekly arguments about Elvhen artefacts.”  
Varric chuckled, “you two did tend to step on each other’s toes” he sighed, “still. You were always great at talking my customers ears off.”  
“Dorian’s studies are pretty interesting, though” Cullen stated, brushing a hand along Dorian’s side, “he-“  
“Hawke’s here, you know” Varric said innocently, cutting Cullen off, “he’d be pretty keen to see you, Curly.”  
Cullen gave Varric a tight smile, teeth gritted, hands in tight fists at his sides, “I think I’m alright.”  
Dorian looked between Varric and Cullen with interest, “Who’s Hawke?”  
Cullen snapped “an old friend” at the same time that Varric interjected, “Curly’s ex.”  
Cullen’s forced smile turned to a blank stare of anger, directed fully at Varric, who levelled a stony glare back in return. Dorian shifted awkwardly, gaze darting between Cullen and Varric. Cullen flinched as he felt Dorian’s hand slide up his, circling vice-like around his wrist. The dwarf followed the movement, staring down at Cullen’s hands.  
“What happened to your knuckles, Curly?” he asked, voice low.  
Cullen clenched his fists even tighter, scabbed skin stretching painfully as he glowered at the dwarf. The red voices were hissing at him, conjuring images of himself driving his fist into Varric’s smug face. Dorian’s hand was becoming less a restraint, more collateral damage.  
Dorian made a small noise of disgruntlement, his thumb tracing the inside of Cullen’s wrist. “Varric” he murmured, stepping forwards, “could I talk to you for a moment?”  
Varric nodded, “sure, kid.”  
Cullen made a noise of protest, trying to grab Dorian’s hand. Dorian snatched it away, frowning back at Cullen, “I just need to ask him something.”  
The pair strode away, voices fading until they were out of earshot. Varric made to move to another room, but Dorian caught him, keeping them both within view of Cullen. And Cullen stared, any semblance of subtlety lost for how blatantly he glared at the dwarf. Though Cullen couldn’t hear them, he could see what Dorian was feeling. Shoulders back, weight rolled back onto one leg, arms crossed over his chest.  
 Any pretence in Varric had disappeared. He held his hands up, palms forward, appealing to Dorian. Something he said must have irked Dorian, however. Dorian tensed, leaning in, face passive. It looked like he was calm, but Cullen could see the anger in the lines of his body. He snapped a quick question, chewing on the inside of his cheek.   
Cullen couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pair, the whispering in his head subsiding as he strained to hear. He felt a stab of anger as Varric gestured towards him, chewing on his lip, fighting to control the urge to march over. What little rationality he had left, however, told him he didn’t need to. Any semblance of indifference had left Dorian, his hands on his hips, mouth moving quickly. He pointed angrily at Varric, making a wide, open-armed gesture, face pinched.   
Suddenly, Dorian turned to look at him. Cullen glanced away, trying to play it off as if he hadn’t been staring. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dorian’s head snapped back towards Varric, arms crossing firmly back over his chest. He said something else, quick and sharp and then spun, stalking towards Cullen.   
“Dorian!” Varric called after him, but the mage didn’t turn.  
Cullen braced himself, tensing for a slap, to be yelled at, whatever Dorian was storming over for. What he didn’t expect, was Dorian throwing himself onto him, mouth crashing hard with his scarred lips. Cullen let out a surprised gasp, but he quickly recovered, a wave of lust rolling through him. He slung his arms under Dorian’s legs, picking him up. Dorian groaned in response, unrelenting as he kissed Cullen desperately, arms locked around the blond’s neck. Cullen opened one eye, seeing Varric watching, face crumpled. Cullen grinned, tightening his grip, holding Dorian against him. He could feel the gaze of others on them, sending a thrill along him. They could all see that Dorian was _his_.  
Cullen carried Dorian through the house, eventually finding an empty hallway. He set Dorian down, keeping his arm firmly locked around the mage’s waist, opening doors until he found a small, walk-in cupboard. He shoved Dorian in, following, slamming the door shut behind him. Dorian’s fingers were like fire over his skin, the path of his touch drawing the needles under Cullen’s flesh close to the surface. He groaned, beginning to pull off the mage’s clothes. Dorian was pliant, letting his head loll back, eyes closed as Cullen freed him.   
Leaning in, Cullen pressed his lips to Dorian’s throat, letting his teeth sink into the man’s bronze flesh, dragging out a low groan. Cullen felt like he was losing himself, red washing over him in tides, each sweeping higher and higher. He let himself go, conscious thought fading. The further he released himself to the red, the deeper Dorian’s touch reached. Dorian was like a fire around him, his skin burning, clawing from the inside out. Cullen groaned, the sound low and guttural. Dorian huffed and panted, and each gasp sent waves of pleasure through Cullen, driving him to push deeper and harder, the shelves shaking for how hard he gripped them.   
Dorian was long spent by the time Cullen reached his end, breathing even as he finished, pressing himself hard against the mage. Dorian was limp, lying back boneless against the shelves, chest heaving. Cullen held him in close, brushing his lips softly against the soft skin of Dorian’s throat, his own skin prickling and hot.   
“I love you” he murmured, gently nipping Dorian’s flesh.  
Dorian gasped, tightening his arms, leaning into the bite. Cullen grinned, the possessive feeling rearing its head once again. Gently, Cullen began to redress Dorian, buttoning up his shirt and smoothing his hair back down. Dorian smiled lopsidedly, reaching forwards and tugging up Cullen’s jeans. As Dorian walked out of the cupboard, Cullen landed a smack square on his arse, making the mage yelp.  
They snuck back into the main party, though the side-eyes that they received from other party guests told him that they hadn’t exactly been quiet. Cullen pulled Dorian in close, brushing a claiming kiss to his throat. As they entered the main lounge room, Cullen caught Varric’s eye as he chatted to Leliana. The dwarf looked between Dorian and Cullen, disappointment clear in his features. Cullen gave him a smug smile, tightening his hold on Dorian.   
He settled down on the couch, pulling Dorian down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around the mage’s middle. Dorian settled back against him, breath still a little short, his limbs moving sluggishly. Cullen grinned in satisfaction. Varric shook his head, looking away. Cullen’s grin grew, and he leaned forwards, brushing a soft kiss to Dorian’s collarbone, lips covering the mark he’d left before.  


***  


As it drew closer to midnight, Cullen and Dorian found themselves out in the backyard, surrounded by most of the crowd from the party. Cullen stood behind Dorian, arms wrapped firmly around him. He kissed and nibbled at Dorian’s throat, making the man squirm and whine. Dorian seemed to be almost leaning away from him, head craning forwards.  
The crowd began to countdown as the final thirty seconds of the night began to wane, anticipation growing as they came closer to midnight. As midnight struck, fireworks erupted, sent up into the sky from the heart of Denerim, visible even on the outskirts. The sky was painted with explosions of pink, green, and white, brighter than the stars as sparks rained down, fizzling out before they reached the ground.   
Cullen spun Dorian around, pressing a long kiss to Dorian’s soft lips. The mage melted into the embrace, going almost limp once more.  
“To another amazing year together” Cullen whispered, leaning his forehead against Dorian’s.  
Dorian smiled, eyes down. He wavered for a moment, chewing on his lip, fingers fidgeting behind Cullen’s head.   
“Dorian?”  
He looked up, eyes finally meeting Cullen’s, small, almost sad smile on his lips. Cullen’s brow furrowed in confusion. He could see something in the way Dorian held himself, the slight downward turn of his brow. He couldn’t grasp it through the haze of red, lost among the lust that settled like a fog, burning at every point of contact between he and Dorian. Whatever it was, Dorian seemed to move past it, storm grey eyes creasing as his smile finally reached them.  
“And to many more after that” Dorian said softly.  
Cullen grinned wide, dipping Dorian back in a deep kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stripsearch- Faith No More


	32. Confide In Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another step closer to the end!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, and are in general enjoying this very bumpy road I'm taking you all on!
> 
> I love feedback and comments, they give me motivation!
> 
> TW- minor violence

Dorian grumbled as he was slowly pulled into consciousness, squeezing his eyes tighter shut against the sunlight streaming in from the windows. He rolled over, feeling blindly for his phone, squinting an eye open to check the time. The numbers on the screen, stamped over his and Cullen’s heads, told him it was 2 in the afternoon. Groaning, Dorian sat up, rubbing his hands over his itchy, heavy eyes. His head pounded, his ears ringing. He wasn’t hungover- far from it- but getting home at 4AM did nothing to help the headache that was already beginning to form at the base of his skull.   
Dorian just sat there for a moment, doubled over on himself, blinking blearily as his inky hair slowly flopped down over his face, already looking to be an untameable, curly mess.  
 Something on Dorian’s chest throbbed and he looked down, sighing when he saw the deep purple bruise, ringed with teeth marks. He felt a flood of embarrassment, burying his face in his hands, the memory of his rather public display of affection coming back to him. A younger version of himself may have found a thrill in the thought of putting on such a show, but all Dorian could feel was shame, and the urge to apologise to Varric. It had been to spite the dwarf, after all. Grimacing, he dragged his hands down his face. He doubted he would live this down.  
He turned, eyes falling on Cullen beside him. The blond was sprawled on his back, brow slightly creased, body slick with sweat. Dorian pursed his lips; Cullen’s overheating was no doubt due to his insistence on wearing a long-sleeved shirt to bed. Despite all of Cullen’s reassurances, Dorian was still yet to shake the worry that had plagued him for the past while. Cullen’s behaviour at the party certainly didn’t help. Even while they’d had their tryst in the cupboard Cullen had been detached, his eyes so red, unfocused. It was like he wasn’t even there anymore. Dorian leaned in, scrutinising his lover’s face. Cullen’s skin had become so pasty, red splotches blooming under it, painting his cheeks, and peeking up from under the neck of his shirt. They had nothing on the redness under Cullen’s eyes, however, the skin puffy and inflamed. Dorian traced a finger along Cullen’s concealed collarbones, gently tugging at the sweat soaked shirt. Cullen grumbled, mouth twisting, turning away. Dorian chewed his lip, eyes sliding down to Cullen’s hands, his knuckles still a little bruised, the remnants of scabs still clinging to them. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of blood-stained hands, the sound of fists colliding with flesh echoing around in his head.  
Shaking his head, Dorian slid carefully out of the bed, cringing as the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Sneaking around to Cullen’s side of the bed, he quietly slid open the bedside table, rummaging through the drawers. He watched Cullen closely as he searched, trying to be as quiet as possible as he pawed through the various odds and ends that Cullen kept. When his search turned up nothing, he tip-toed to the dresser, rifling through Cullen’s clothes. He _knew_ Cullen was using again. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had tried so desperately to buy Cullen’s excuses and stories, but he couldn’t fool himself any longer. The bedroom, however, offered up nothing incriminating, save for a few strange unintelligible notes that Cullen had shoved into the corners of drawers. Dorian then widened the scope of his search, turning over the loungeroom, kitchen and study. All yielded nothing.   
Dorian finally found himself on his hands and knees in the bathroom, reaching up inside the pipe connected to the bathroom sink. Again, he found nothing, except a handful of sludge that had collected on the inside of the pipes. He stood, flicking the slime off his hand in disgust, scrubbing his fingers clean. As he scrubbed, he felt himself deflate until his head was resting against the mirror, eyes closed. Guilt twisted around in his gut, stabbing in. Again and again Cullen told him there wasn’t anything, and still he didn’t believe him.  
“I’m a total arsehole” he muttered to himself.  
He pushed himself up, slowly pulling off his clothes, lumbering into the shower. The showerhead squealed as he turned the taps, the cold water making him gasp as it hit his skin, raising gooseflesh on his back. Soon it turned hot, the warmth soaking into his muscles, loosening the knots that were wound tight into his back. Groaning with relief, he let his head fall back into the spray of the shower, feeling the water leave tracks of heat over his cheeks. He washed his hair slowly, letting himself concentrate on the process fully, tuning out everything but the patter of water droplets on the tile and the perfumed shampoo. Dorian let his head drop as the foam washed down his back. He opened his eyes, looking down at his feet, brows knitting together at what he saw on the tiles; tiny speckles of blood, slowly being washed away. It wasn’t much blood, and it was mostly brown for how old it was, but Dorian couldn’t help the wave of nausea that rushed over him. Dorian pressed his face into his hands. It was too much, all of it was too much.   
“Andraste” he lamented, “preserve me.”  
He slowly lifted his head, running his hands through his hair. Eyes on the fading red flecks, Dorian forced his thoughts to drift, focusing on the rush of water and the steam that enclosed him.  
After finally managing to drag himself out of the shower, Dorian was dressed, collecting a last few items from around the bedroom. Satchel over his shoulder, he wandered over to Cullen, who was still asleep on the bed, face slack, fingers twitching as he dreamed. Dorian leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Cullen’s cheek. The mage had turned to leave when a quiet hum caught his attention. He looked back, feeling an inexplicable sadness piercing him at the sleepy smile on Cullen’s face. For just a moment, _his_ Cullen was there. Not the strange, distant imposter that had inhabited the blond’s body for the past few months, but the sweet, gentle, shy Cullen that Dorian had fallen in love with. Then, the smile faded as Cullen’s face grew slack once more.   
Dorian drew a shuddering breath, trying to regain a sense of calm. He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to Cullen’s hair. With a final glance at the sleeping man, he strode out of the house, trying to hold the image of Cullen’s smile in his head.  


***  


His writing had stopped making sense a long time ago, but still Dorian tried to decipher the jumbled mess on the pages spread out before him. He rested his chin on his hands, feeling defeat worm its way further into his brain. He could hear Solas working in his room, voice muffled as he chatted excitedly with his companion; a skinny blonde elf who had glared at Dorian as he’d walked in. Dorian let his head drop to the desk, banging it against the wooden top a few times, trying to force the distractions from his head. It was fruitless, though. He found he could focus even less, thanks to the throbbing of his forehead.  
 He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and tapping on Felix’s contact automatically. He caught himself with his finger hovering over the call button, realisation hitting him like a punch to the gut. Perhaps Dorian was glutton for punishment, for he found himself pressing on the little green ‘call’ icon, putting the phone up to his ear. The line began to ring and Dorian tensed, eager to hear Felix’s voice, even if it was just a recording, and even if it was just to tell him he wasn’t there.   
“Hello?”   
Dorian faltered when someone else’s voice came through the line. “Sorry” he mumbled, unable to keep his disappointment from colouring his tone, “wrong number.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call, letting his phone drop to the desk with a clatter.   
He tried to force himself to focus, staring down at his notes. The more he glared down at his writing, the more his focus slipped, the more his frustration grew. Worry ate away at his gut, his mind half an hour away, still in the bedroom with Cullen. Dorian finally gave up when he felt himself itching to set the loose papers alight. He reached forwards, picking up his phone once again, scrolling through his contacts. When he found the name he was looking for, he wasted no time in calling, pressing the phone to his ear as the line rung.  
“Cassandra Penteghast’s office.”  
Dorian couldn’t help the small smile that quirked his mouth, Cassandra’s voice somehow even more stern than usual.  
“It’s Dorian” he said quietly, “do you have a moment to talk?”  
“Dorian” Cassandra sighed, her voice softening somewhat. Dorian could hear the rush of the precinct through the phone, the sound muffling as a door clicked closed, “what do you need?”  
Dorian licked his lips, not sure where to begin. He felt like he had so much he needed to talk about; now that he had an audience, he wasn’t too sure what he could say. “I feel like I’ve chased everyone away” he began, tentatively, “I don’t know that I had many friends to begin with, but now… I don’t have anyone.”  
“That is not true” Cassandra snapped.  
Dorian chuckled, “ah, but it is. Sera hasn’t spoken to me for months, Bull has decided that I’m throwing my life away, and I threw Varric’s concerns right back in his face like some spoiled child” he huffed a humourless laugh, “and Felix is dead, we mustn’t forget that.” When Cassandra didn’t say anything, Dorian pushed on, feeling like words were bubbling up inside him, “and to be perfectly honest, I’m not so sure anymore that they’re wrong.”  
Cassandra let out a long sigh, “Dorian” she began slowly, “to say you don’t have friends is not true. _I_ am your friend.”  
Dorian grimaced, “I’m… I’m not saying you aren’t, Cass.” Dorian rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut, “I just don’t want to come between you and Bull.”  
Cassandra was silent for a moment, whether in agreement or not, Dorian couldn’t tell.   
“I notice you haven’t mentioned Cullen.”  
Dorian picked at his fingernails, staring at his desk, “that’s actually what I was calling about.”  
Cassandra hummed, “go on.”  
“I’m worried about him” he admitted, resting his head against his fist, “he’s been so… off. He’s become distant and aggressive. He doesn’t look at me, not truly. Not even...” he trailed off, mind drifting to the last few times he and Cullen had had sex, how Cullen seemed to just look through him. The roughness had lost its thrill quickly, sex becoming impersonal. Cassandra was silent on the other end. Dorian groaned, “I love him, Cassandra. Desperately. But it’s as if it isn’t even _him_ anymore. I’m almost scared of him” he took a deep breath, trying to finally voice the thought that had been eating away at him, “and I’m scared that _I_ did this to him, that I’ve made him like this.”   
There was a weariness to Cassandra’s voice when she finally spoke; Dorian imagined her in a similar position to him, leaning against her desk, shoulders hunched forward, “I had hoped Cullen was getting better. But, I will admit that he has seemed to have slipped, even further than before. The… display last night was very much unlike him” she shifted, the sound of fabric rustling carried through the phone, “but I worry, it does not seem like lyrium.”  
The sound of a door opening sounded from Cassandra’s end, followed by a muffled voice. Cassandra snapped something, her voice authoritative. When she turned back to the phone, her tone shifted entirely.  
“I apologise, Dorian” she murmured, voice softer than he’d ever heard it, “But I have to go. Would you…” she faltered, awkwardness tangible even through the phone line, “would you want to call me again tonight? We can try and figure out a way to help Cullen.”  
Dorian smiled despite himself, “I’d very much appreciate that.”  
“Then it’s settled. I’ll talk to you again tonight. Goodbye, Dorian” there was a click, and Cassandra’s voice was gone, replaced by a steady beeping.  
Despite his plans for later that night, Dorian couldn’t help the way his head dropped. Despair settled over him like a heavy cloud. Dorian didn’t know what feeling was stronger; guilt that he was going behind Cullen’s back, or the unshakeable dread that all of it was his fault.   
Dorian stood up, opening his satchel and shoving his notes and books off the desk and into it. It was pointless trying to work with the thoughts swirling around his head. At least if he was home he could try and talk to Cullen, figure out something before he reconvened with Cassandra. Shouldering his satchel, he trudged out of his little studio, locking the door behind him. He trudged down the hallway, footsteps echoing on the tile. He heard a door click behind him, squeaking a little as it swung open.  
 “Leaving so soon?” Dorian turned, eyes falling on Solas, who was leaning against his door frame, “it is of little wonder that your research is taking so long.”  
Dorian glared at the bald elf, decidedly not in the mood for his lofty condescension, “Solas, what’s this whole look of yours about?”  
Solas blinked, taken aback, “I’m sorry?”  
“No, that _outfit_ is sorry” Dorian corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. He let his eyes sweep critically over Solas’ form, travelling over the threadbare Henley and frayed slacks, lingering on the elf’s grubby bare feet, “is it a Dalish thing? Don’t you dislike the Dalish?” he cocked his head, “or is it some kind of statement?”.  
“No” Solas snapped, face impassive.  
Dorian hummed thoughtfully, theatrically curling his moustache, “well, it says ‘apostate hobo’ to me.”  
“You forget you’re also an apostate” Solas said acerbically, bristling.  
Dorian smiled, the expression not quite meeting his eyes, “yes, but I have the sense not to dress like one.”  
With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Solas silently fuming, if the red flush to his cheeks was anything to go by. Dorian wondered how hot his cheeks would have to get to boil his egg head. He laughed to himself, allowing himself just a moment of respite as he began his walk home.  


***  


The house was completely dark when Dorian got home. He felt a twinge of annoyance as he wandered into the hallway, flicking on lights to make up for the last few dregs of sunlight as they disappeared. He walked into the study, dropping his bag onto the desk. He shrugged off his jacket, waving a hand absently, sending his books zipping back into their places as he strode into the bedroom. The bed was empty, though Cullen’s side was still damp with sweat, a dark patch following the contour of where his body had been. Dorian stared at it, debating using a little magic to dry it. Generally the smell wasn’t worth it.  
The squeal of pipes alerted Dorian to the shower starting up. He walked over to the bathroom, tentatively turning the door knob. When the lock clicked open, Dorian couldn’t help the little thrill that ran up him. He couldn’t deny that, while things had been off, he had been yearning for comfort. He desperately wanted to curl up in Cullen’s arms, sink bone deep into the other man, encapsulated in his warmth. Perhaps if they could stand in the shower together, soaking in each other, they could pretend things were normal for just a few hours. And besides, Dorian couldn’t fault himself for wanting to see his boyfriend naked again. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Cullen’s new trend of modest bed clothing.  
All hope of normalcy was dashed when Dorian stepped into the bathroom. Cullen sat huddled in the shower, knees tucked up to his chest, head buried down in his arms.   
“Maker, Cullen!” Dorian cried, throwing the shower door open. He dropped to his knees, reaching up and turning the shower off before wrapping his arms around Cullen, pulling the man against him. The thin fabric of Dorian’s shirt and pants were immediately sodden, but he found he cared little. Cullen was shuddering, choked sobs caught in his throat. He clung to Dorian, breath coming out in short bursts. Dorian flicked his wrist, a towel disentangling itself from the rack, flying into his outstretched hand. He bundled Cullen up in the towel, wrapping it tight.  
“Amatus” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Cullen’s hair, “what’s wrong?”  
Cullen let out a long, low howl, burying his face into the crook of Dorian’s throat. Cullen’s hands clenched tight in Dorian’s shirt, tugging the mage in close.  
“I’m sorry” he wept, voice barely audible.  
Dorian leaned back, lips pursed, “Cullen” he began, but that was as far as he got. He finally, properly, looked at Cullen. The red splotches he’d seen that morning stretched further than his neck, growing more angry and dry. Cullen was tense, head tucked even further into himself. Dorian followed the path of red skin down Cullen’s shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the blond’s wrist and stretching his arm out. Dorian felt the blood drain from every inch of his body. Nestled in the crook of Cullen’s elbow sat a cluster of track marks; scabbed black pinpricks ringed with deep purple bruises, all laced together with a map of raised, inflamed veins. Dorian drew in a deep, trembling breath, his fingers tightening around Cullen’s wrist.  
“You’re fucking high, aren’t you?”.  
Cullen finally lifted his head from his arms. The whites of his eyes were almost completely red, tears streaming from them, mixing with the watery mucus that dribbled from his nose. His teeth were chattering violently, mimicking the trembling of his body. He nodded stiffly.  
“I-I-I’m coming down” he choked, tightening his grip on Dorian.  
Dorian felt a flood of fury, anguish reaching into every inch of his body, “what the fuck, Cullen?” he cried.  
Cullen reached out, brows knitting together when Dorian flinched away, “you w-w-weren’t meant to be home” he stammered, “not for a few more hours.”  
Dorian scoffed, incredulous. He stood up, snatching his hand away as Cullen grabbed at him, stepping out of the shower. He paced back and forth, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He finally managed to form words, turning back to Cullen, “is that what I am to you?” he spat, the words like glass in his mouth, “some passing fancy to warm your fucking bed while you skulk around behind my back, _lying to my face,_ and getting high?”  
Cullen shook his head violently, “p-please, love. I love you. I don’t want to take it.”  
Dorian laughed humourlessly, “no. You won’t fool me. Not again. I thought you were using again, but I didn’t want to believe it.” Dorian turned to Cullen, anger rising at the sight of the blond curled up, hands shaking, “Venhedis! I asked you, Cullen! I begged you to tell me! I would have supported you, helped you again” he ran his hands through his hair, fingers tightening, pulling the strands painfully, “why would you _betray_ me like this?”  
Cullen’s face crumpled, “it was Anders” he croaked, “it’s because of Anders. If I hadn’t seen h-him… He made me. I needed to. I’m sorry.” Cullen leaned forwards, clutching the towel as if it was a lifeline, “I couldn’t resist the song. I don’t want it. I don’t want to take r-red.”  
“Cullen” Dorian growled, trying to still his temper a little, “I don’t understand. What is red?”  
At the word “red” Cullen’s eyes opened wide. He started shaking his head violently, “no, I didn’t want to take it. They made me, Dorian. They made me take it” his voice grew higher as he slipped into hysterics, chest heaving with his laboured breaths, “it’s in my head. Y-y-yelling at me.”  
Dorian watched as Cullen grew more panicked. Pity mingled with hurt, feeling like a knife twisting in his heart. “Cullen!” he shouted. Cullen jumped, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, his bottom lip trembling. Dorian felt his control snap.   
“Please” he began, voice thick, tears beginning to seep down his cheeks, “cut the bullshit. I want to know why you didn’t trust me.” He sighed, feeling his shoulders droop, anger deflating into a hollow pit, “I told you I’d always be here for you. I tried to help you. All you had to do was ask.”  
Cullen was shaking his head again, “I’m not good enough” he sobbed, “I didn’t deserve your help.”  
Dorian felt anger flare back up inside up, swirling red hot around his spine, bubbling in his chest. “Stop with this self-deprecating shit!” he yelled, beginning to pace again, “it isn’t helping you!”.  
“I’m sorry” Cullen mumbled, shrinking in on himself.  
Dorian licked his lips, trying to stop his hands from clenching even tighter than they already were, fingernails biting into his palms. Somehow the pathetic figure Cullen posed, hunched up and shaking, made him even angrier. “How long?” he demanded, seething, “how long has it been since you’ve been sober?”  
Cullen stared up at him, fingers twitching.   
“Well?”  
Cullen scratched at his skin, eyes darting to the floor, flinching as he knocked a scab off his arm, “four months” he admitted, a tremor distinct in his meek voice, “maybe a little more.”  
Dorian felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. He had thought- or rather hoped- that it had been weeks. But months? He felt a fresh wave of tears break free, trickling hotly down his face. He felt Cullen’s eyes on him.  
“I’m sorry” Cullen sobbed, “I had to. I couldn’t be good.” He stretched out his arms, baring his damaged flesh to Dorian. Dorian flinched, turning away from the bruises his lover had given himself.  
“I can’t stop” Cullen’s voice was so weak, so pained, “I know the red is hurting me. I don’t want it, but I need it. Its song is in my head.”  
Dorian groaned, “stop, please. I don’t understand.”  
Cullen stood, letting the towel drop, clutching Dorian’s arm, “the red made me whole, made me good.”  
Dorian rounded on Cullen, “what do you _mean_ made you good? You _are_ good!”  
Cullen shook his head violently, “I’m not good. I’m _not_ good.”  
Dorian grabbed Cullen’s shoulders, fingers digging into the bare flesh, anger making the tendons in his neck tense, “stop saying that!”  
“I had to be good!” Cullen insisted, voice breaking as he sobbed, “I had to be good f-f-for you! I couldn’t be good, and I had to be! The o-only way I could be good for you was if I was high!”  
The sound of the slap echoed off the bathroom walls. The palm of Dorian’s hand stung, throbbing just a little bit. Cullen took a stumbling step back, hand on his cheek, eyes wide. Dorian stared at him, rage burning through him. He took a step forward, making Cullen flinch. The hurt on Cullen’s face was clear, his sobs stopped for a moment.  
“Don’t you dare” Dorian spat, wiping his eyes angrily, hand trembling, “fucking blame this on me. You did this.”  
He turned on his heel, stalking towards the door. He paused with his hand on the door handle, turning back to Cullen. The blond was still standing by the shower, nude, curled in on himself, hand pressed to his red cheek. Some part of Dorian screamed at him to stay, to wrap Cullen in his arms and help him. Fulfil his promise to love him no matter what. But another part of him, the raw part, the part that was now ripped wide open, told him to go. He stared at Cullen for a moment longer, willing for his love to reach out. To just ask for help. Cullen just stood there, letting his eyes fall to the floor. Dorian didn’t know he had any heart left to break, yet he felt it smash into a million pieces then.  
“I’ll be back in the morning” he stated dully, “you’d better be sober. We’ll talk then.”  
He didn’t wait for a response before opening the door, not that he expected one. He stepped out into the hallway, unable to resist slamming the door behind him.   
Dorian made quick work of shedding his damp clothes, throwing on new ones before quickly stuffing an overnight bag with some more. He lamented not having a toothbrush, but he didn’t feel like he could quite go back into the bathroom. When he finally finished in the bedroom, he hovered by the bathroom door. There was no movement inside, no sound to suggest that there was anyone there. Dorian considered for a moment going back in, but the anger that flared up inside him when he even played with the idea told him not to.  
 He sighed, trudging into the front room. He slowed as he passed Cullen’s parka, thrown as it always was across the sunlounge. He wandered over to it, pawing through the pockets, finding what he was looking for. Cullen’s carton of cigarettes. Dorian had only ever really been a social smoker, but unless he wanted to copy his boyfriend and relapse, he needed another stress relief.  
He threw open the front door, closing and locking it behind him as he strode out into the brisk evening, shoving the key into his pocket. He jammed a cigarette between his lips, summoning a small flame on his fingertip, touching it to the end of the smoke. He took a deep breath, letting the smoke furl around his mouth and nose before he inhaled, closing his eyes, swallowing a cough.   
Hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, Dorian set off, storming along the deserted street.   


***  


The sound of chirping pulled Dorian from his reverie. He fumbled around with his pockets, finally finding his phone tucked into the back of his jeans. He pulled his third cigarette from his lips, pressing the phone to his ear.  
“Hello?”  
“Dorian” Cassandra’s voice had the same soft tone of earlier, “you said you would call.”  
Dorian laughed, the sound strange and hollow, even to him, “Cassandra, I’m so glad you called. You see, I was on my way to your house, but I’ve just realised I don’t actually know where it is.”  
“What has happened?” Cassandra’s voice immediately went higher with alarm, “Dorian, are you alright?”  
“A question for the ages.”  
Dorian could almost hear Cassandra’s disapproving scowl through the phone, “do not jest, Dorian. I ask because I care.”  
Dorian sighed, “I know. I’ve just… I’ve just found out that Cullen is indeed using again, though, we can talk about that in more detail when I get to yours.”  
The silence that stretched between them seemed to say a thousand words. Eventually, Cassandra broke it, her voice small, “I see.”  
Dorian just gave a simple hum, taking a long draw on his cigarette, trying to cloud the thoughts swirling in his head.  
“I shall come and get you.”  
Dorian told Cassandra where he was and then thanked her, settling himself down on a nearby bus bench. He leaned back against the seat, burying himself further into the coat, trying to protect himself from the perpetual Ferelden cold. Some version of Cullen sat next to him, arm slung around his shoulders, teasing him for shivering. He smiled, blinking back tears, letting his head loll back, eyes on the stars. The old Cullen did the same, resting his head against his chest.  
 The illusion taken away all too quickly. A wintry breeze brushed against his throat, piercing through where the old Cullen rested. He disappeared into the night and Dorian was alone. Finally, the tears fell, and Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. With shaking breaths, he waited for Cassandra, trying to forget the stranger he’d left standing in the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confide In Me- Kylie Minogue


	33. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it terrible that I use writing the next chapter of this fic as a reward for doing my assignments?
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the new chapter! All your comments have been making me so happy, and I'm sorry (not sorry) for breaking as many hearts as I seem to be. Thank you all so much for your feedback :)
> 
> Sorry that this one is a little short, but there was no real way to stretch it out any longer without waffling on and wayyyy overfilling it.
> 
> Happy reading!

Cullen wandered aimlessly around the house, drifting into a room, hovering for a moment before trundling out again. He felt hot and itchy, his shirt stuck to him by the sweat that was slick over every inch of his skin. His bones ached, feeling like they were splintering with each step, but his ceaseless movement helped in keeping his mind busy. Stopped him from thinking too hard about it. The red that was buried under his skin, swirling around in his blood, screaming at him inside his head to _take more_. He was sober, finally, but it was at the cost of what little sanity Cullen felt like he had left.  
Though Dorian had said he would be back in the morning, morning had come and gone, and the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as the afternoon ebbed. Cullen had found himself glancing at the clock more and more frequently, silently begging it to tell him when Dorian would get there. Cullen had tried to ask the man himself, but each call he made only earned him Dorian’s voicemail, and his texts, growing steadily more unintelligible as his fingers shook, sat unanswered.  
Eventually the pain in Cullen’s legs had grown too great and he sat on the couch, tucking his aching limbs up to his chest. His breath left him in short, quick bursts, verging on hyperventilation; each breath felt like knives to his ribs. Cullen almost felt foolish for ever having thought that withdrawals from blue were bad. They felt far more akin to a cold than the pain that plagued Cullen as he sat trembling on the couch, scratching his skin raw. He was thankful his nails were so short; if they had been long like Dorian’s, he most likely would have tried to peel his skin off, anything to rip out the broken glass that was embedded inside it.  
He turned the TV on, desperate to find some distraction. He flicked through the channels, clicking the buttons faster and faster, staring blankly at the screen as the shows flashed by. He finally settled on something non-descript, letting his head loll against the back of the couch, eyes unable to focus on the blurry shapes which danced across the screen. He couldn’t hear what the people were saying, either, their words lost through the wheezing sound of his border hyperventilation, or his yelps as a particularly bad pain stabbed him. The drone in the background was comforting, though. He closed his eyes, pretending that that ambient noise and quiet conversation was Dorian in the kitchen.  
Suddenly, Cullen felt his stomach flip, bile rising in his throat. He jumped up, sprinting to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of his empty stomach were violently emptied. His knees throbbed from where they had crashed painfully into the tiles, and the stomach acid burned his dry and split lips. He let his head rest against the toilet seat, panting, gripping the seat hard as residual dry heaves jerked him. It felt like someone had tipped water over his head for how much sweat rolled down his face. Cullen was surprised he had anything left in him to sweat; he had long since cried himself out, his eyes painfully dry.  
As if watching the pathetic display, the red voices screamed louder _see? See? This is what you are without lyrium_. Cullen tried to ignore them, clutching onto Dorian, his single lifeline. Cullen could see himself dangling above a writhing sea of red hands, grasping at his feet, clawing at him, while he held onto a single, slowly fraying rope. Dorian stood high in the distance, almost completely out of sight, ever so gradually drawing the rope up, all the while the ocean of red rose.  
“Don’t do it” Cullen whispered to himself, voice scratchy for how raw his throat was, “just wait. He’ll be home soon.”  
That had been his mantra since the sun had risen that morning. He hadn’t managed to sleep, racing around the house, agitated and desperate. When dawn had broken, Cullen had found a strange sense of calm, a reassurance that Dorian would be home in just a few hours. The calm hadn’t lasted long, however. When Dorian hadn’t shown by 9, the symptoms and the voices that Cullen had been just suppressing through sheer will had broken through his flimsy walls, cascading down like an avalanche, threatening to bury him.  
Cullen groaned, trying to shake the defeatism out of his mind. He pushed himself up from the bathroom floor, lamenting the loss of the cold tiles on his burning skin. He stumbled over to the sink, supporting himself against it as he fought down another wave of nausea. Slowly looking up, Cullen recoiled at the sight in the mirror. His eyes were intensely bloodshot, the skin under them red and flaky and dry. They drifted to his cheek. There was no bruise where Dorian had struck him, not even a red mark, but Cullen could still feel it. He could hear the sound it had made in his head. It hadn’t hurt, and he wasn’t sure it was even _meant_ to have hurt, but that didn’t make Cullen feel any better about it. His hand trembled as he gently brushed his cheek. He turned his eyes away from his own reflection, shame burning through him. He felt his cheeks flush. He had deserved it. He couldn’t remember what he’d said; most of the encounter was lost in a haze of red and pain. It didn’t matter, though. Dorian wouldn’t have done it without cause.  
Cullen turned on the taps, letting water pool in his cupped hands before splashing it on his face, wiping off the vomit, sighing with relief at the coolness on his face. He collected a little more water, drinking it greedily, spilling it on his shirt in his haste. Thought it felt good in his dry mouth, it did nothing to quench his thirst.  
Without looking back into the mirror, Cullen left the bathroom. As he walked back into the loungeroom, a sudden pain in his leg sent him sprawling, howling in agony, almost completely convinced that his bone had broken under him. When he looked at the leg it was fine, no indicators of the agony encased within it. Cullen let out a cry, a mix of frustration, anger and despair. Taking a few deep, painful breaths, he pulled himself back up. He grabbed his phone from the lounge, calling Dorian. Though he’d told himself Dorian wouldn’t pick up, he couldn’t stop the crush of disappointment when all he got was Dorian’s voicemail. _Again_. He threw his phone down in frustration, not even looking at it when it bounced off the couch and onto the floor with a clatter. His arm ached in protest of the movement, but he ignored it, storming into the front room.  
He needed relief. Needed something to ease the pain that felt like it permeated every inch of his body. Even his eyes hurt, aching as they moved.  
 It no longer felt like craving; Cullen’s body needed lyrium, desperately crying out for it, feeling like it was laced into every part of him. Cullen grabbed his parka off the sunlounge, rifling through the pockets. When his fingers just met fabric, panic raced through him. Where were his cigarettes? He went through the pockets again, beginning to hyperventilate. Where were they? He turned his parka upside down, shaking it vigorously. He needed his cigarettes. The parka yielded nothing, save for a lone sovereign that made Cullen jump when it fell to the ground loudly. He threw his jacket in disgust, dropping down to the floor with a _thud_. He searched frantically under the sun lounge, jumping back up again and tearing off the pillows. Crying out in anger he kicked the sun lounge, sending it onto its back with a _crash_. He twisted his fingers in his hair, tightening them until they threatened to pull his hair out.  
“I’ll just go to the shop” he told himself through gritted teeth, “I’ll buy some more. Just buy some more.”  
The song of the lyrium crawled out from the bathroom, climbing up his spine, mingling with the voices in his head. They called to him, chanting at him. The plan to get cigarettes died on Cullen’s lips, lost to the song. That relief was so far away, and so weak in comparison to the lyrium that was within reach. The last of Cullen’s resolve crumbled. Body heavy with defeat, Cullen made his way back to the bathroom. He just wanted to stop feeling, stop feeling the pain in his body, stop the hurting from watching Dorian walk out over and over in his head. As he trudged to the bathroom, he willed Dorian to walk in the door then. For the mage to run up behind him, wrap his arms around his waist and tell him to stop. The front door didn’t move.  
Cullen eased his fingers under the tile over the toilet, prising it off. He reached into the little wall cavity, pulling out his syringe and his red. He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the little bag of red power, glowing, sifting slowly over itself. His skin prickled underneath it, blood reaching for it. As he stared down at it, he realised even his red sleep wasn’t enough. He could still feel, was still vaguely aware. He just wanted respite, to get away for a few hours. He reached back into the cavity, grabbing his little vial of deathroot extract, too.  
Cullen’s hands trembled as he walked into the bedroom. He left his stash uncovered; Dorian knew already. One less secret to tell him when he got home would make it easier, he hoped. Cullen sat down heavily on the bed, the frame creaking under his weight. He reached into his bedside table, grabbing his little zippo. As he prepared the syringe he zoned out, hands moving of their own accord as they acted out the familiar routine, save for the addition of the deathroot. As if it knew what he was doing, the red voices calmed, excitement tangible in the base of his skull. Cullen stared down at the syringe as he pulled the liquid up into it. The red still glowed, casting sickly light out, but it was muddied by the brown of the deathroot, resembling blood.  
Cullen didn’t have any fight left in him. No matter how hard he tried, how long he abstained from lyrium, he always ended up back in this position, roped into submission by his glowing singing mistress. Maybe it was always meant to be like this, though, Cullen thought. At least if Dorian found him high, he might realise that he was a lost cause. He’d wake up and Dorian would tell him that they were finished. The mage would leave, heart-broken, possibly, but better off. He would find someone that he deserved and they would be happy, Dorian would be an amazing magic theorist, and he’d be free. And Cullen would be where _he_ deserved; squarely on the path to self-destruction, all collateral reduced. And in a year, he’d be dead, with no one, save Cassandra, to mourn him. If Dorian left him he’d finally be safe. At least when Dorian finally did leave, the lyrium would take Cullen’s memories of him before too long.  
Cullen scowled at himself. He could wax poetic in his head all he liked, but he knew, truly, his intentions were not so noble. He was selfish and cruel, and no matter pretence he put over his relapse, he would always remain as such. Dorian wouldn’t leave him, rather, it would destroy him to find him high again. Dorian would walk in, find Cullen, and he’d be broken. Snapped under Cullen’s boot, another mage who had suffered by Cullen’s hand. Part of Cullen so desperately wanted to hold on, to snap the syringe in half and just hold out for Dorian, but it was drowned under the tide of red. The ocean only rose higher, and the fraying rope snapped.  
Cullen dragged himself up further onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He reached down, unbuckling his belt, pulling it off. With practiced movements he wrapped it around his bicep, pulling it tight and buckling it, the leather biting deep into his raw skin. His eyes drifted down to the black pinpricks, decorating the soft flesh of his inner elbow. The skin around them was a stained a greenish-yellow, bruised from the abuse he’d put it through. He winced as the needle slid into his skin, blood pooling around it. Slowly, he depressed the little lever on the back of the syringe, forcing the mixture into his veins. He felt the familiar prickling of the red, chewing on his veins as they filled them, but it was followed by the deathroot, which soothed the pain, slowly numbing his arm. Even as it went numb, he felt his fingers twitch. He wanted Dorian’s hand in his own, but all that was next to him was the cold empty bed. Cullen wondered if, after this, he would ever hold Dorian’s hand again.  
He reached up, unbuckling the belt, letting it slide off. His arm dropped limply to his side, numb and useless. The cocktail began to slither through him, burning and numbing as it travelled, making his body feel heavier as it spread. Cullen’s eyelids began to flutter and, despite wanting to slip into the fog, he fought against the heaviness. He reached for Dorian’s pillow, tucking it close to his chest, arms wrapped securely around it. He felt his head begin to droop, nodding as his consciousness slipped, his vision growing dark.  
Cullen let his head drop, pressing his face into Dorian’s pillow. He inhaled deeply, the smell of Dorian- spice and musk- filling his nostrils, swirling pleasantly around his cotton-wool stuffed head. It almost felt like Dorian was pressed against him once again, curled up against his chest, swathed in Cullen’s protective embrace.  
He lost the fight against the numbness, eyes sliding closed, plunged into darkness as he slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echoes- The Rapture


	34. For What It's Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay on this chapter! I've had heaps of uni assignments lately so I haven't been able to write and it's been killing me.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this new chapter! We're so close to the end!! As always I love your comments and kudos.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this for so long!

Dorian leaned his forehead against the passenger window of Cassandra’s car, staring blankly out at his house. The windows were dark, the front light off, the porch shrouded in shadows as the dusky sky grew darker.   
“We should go in.”  
Dorian turned to Cassandra, who was surveying him, chocolate brown eyes unreadable. He nodded, glancing down at his phone, missed calls and unanswered texts filling up the screen. He felt a stab of guilt, switching off his phone and tucking it into his pocket.  
“I suppose we should” he sighed.  
The pair exited the car in silence, the only sound the slap of their feet on concrete as they drew closer to the front door. Dorian could feel his anxiety rising, fed by the foreboding quiet that seemed to emanate from the house. He took a deep breath when they reached the front step, letting the front door swing open with a creak.  
“Kaffas”. The curse left Dorian’s lips as his eyes fell on the overturned sunlounge, pillows strewn across the front room, Cullen’s parka inside out on the floor. His fingers drifted to the pocket of his coat, the edge of the cigarette carton sharp through the fabric. He swallowed, bile rising in his throat.  
“We should find him” Cassandra said solemnly, gently pushing him forwards.   
Dorian allowed himself to be urged on, trudging into the lounge room. Another wave of guilt crashed over him at the sight of Cullen’s smashed phone on the floor. He turned his head away, cheeks burning with shame.   
His trepidation grew as he drew closer to the bedroom. He still hadn’t heard any noise in the house, save for that which he and Cassandra made. Dorian placed his hand on the door knob, unable to open the door. He sent a silent prayer up to the Maker, a weak plea that Cullen had listened to him. He steeled himself, trying to prepare for the worst. As Dorian finally opened the bedroom door, his knees almost gave out under him. Cullen lay sprawled across the mattress, half propped up by the bedhead. His arms were wrapped loosely around a pillow, face buried in it. He hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt, his bare arms marked with evidence of his using, the most recent needle mark ringed with dried blood. Dorian let out a soft cry, unable to stop his tears as they began to flow down his cheeks, soaking into the collar of his shirt.   
He slowly walked closer to the bed, unable to decipher the emotions that burned through him, each overtaking the last. The only one he could really identify was hurt, radiating from the expanding hole that was punched in his chest. He gingerly sat on the bed, though his care wasn’t necessary; Cullen didn’t stir. He looked up at Cassandra, wondering if her face, was a mirror of his own. Her eyes were on Cullen, jaw set as if she was gritting her teeth, weariness clear in the lines of her face.  
Dorian turned back to Cullen, gently turning the man’s chin up. His skin was hot to the touch, his dry lips hanging open, bloodshot eyes rolled back into his head. Dorian let out a choked sob, carefully rolling Cullen onto his side, pulling the pillow from his loose grip.  
“I shouldn’t have left” he murmured, voice strangled by this thickness in his throat.  
He felt the mattress dip beside him, Cassandra’s hand laid on his shoulder, “this is not your fault” she said firmly, “you were upset, and Cullen has acted foolishly.”  
Dorian sighed, gently brushing Cullen’s sweat soaked hair back from his face, “does it ever get any easier?”  
The shuddering breath that came from the woman at his side confused Dorian. He turned, seeing tears glinting in the corners of Cassandra’s eyes, her iron mask faltering.  
“No” she said finally, eyes on the floor, “every time it is as if he has taken another piece of me with him” she took another shaky breath, “but I would let him take them until I had nothing left.”  
Dorian let out a small huff, small, sad smile on his lips, “I’m beginning to know what that feels like.”  
“It has distressed me seeing him like this” she sighed, hand resting on Cullen’s calf, “it reminds me of what he was like in Kirkwall.”  
Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise, “you knew him in Kirkwall?”  
Cassandra flashed him a faint grin, “there are many things you do not know about me.”  
“Oh?” Dorian leaned in, “do tell.”  
“I shouldn’t”.  
Dorian rolled his eyes, “don’t be a tease” his eyes fell on Cullen, the joking mood disappearing in an instant, “we may as well do something while we wait for him to wake up. I’m sure that’s still some time away.”  
Cassandra followed his gaze, grimacing, “I suppose.”  
Dorian began to card his fingers through Cullen’s hair, looking expectantly at Cassandra. She watched his ministrations, her usual unshakeable composure missing, fingers fidgeting in her lap. She finally glanced up, her eyes meeting Dorian’s.  
“Cullen has told you of Kirkwall, yes?” she asked. When Dorian nodded she copied the movement, “I was a sergeant, and my team was sent to assist what was left of the Templars, and to help in relocating the citizens affected by the explosion” she smiled, the slight curve of her lips barely noticeable, “I, of course, noticed Cullen straight away. I was young and brash, and I asked him if he would like to get a drink.”  
Dorian couldn’t help the slight rush of jealousy, but he covered it with a laugh, “you asked Cullen out on a date?”  
Cassandra rolled her eyes, “nothing so defined. But I will admit that I found him… interesting.”  
Dorian snorted, “interesting?”  
“Hush” Cassandra snapped, “it was not meant to be, no matter how _interesting_ I found him. I asked a few questions and he was very… open. I feel that he just needed a friend.” She sighed, resting her elbows on her knees, “he was broken then and he is now. I helped him get home to his family; he had not seen them in almost ten years. I pray to the Maker every day that he reunites with them once again. It has been too long since he has been home.”  
Dorian hummed thoughtfully, “is there a way for us to contact them for him?”  
Cassandra shook her head sadly, “I never met them. Cullen never even told me their names.”  
“We’ll contact them” Dorian stated, crossing his arms over his chest, “as soon as Cullen wakes up we’ll demand that he contacts them. We can’t let him run away from his problems anymore.”  
Cassandra smiled sadly, “I hope that this is his last relapse, for all our sakes.”  
Dorian nodded, turning his gaze back to Cullen, eyes roving over the blond’s face. Despite the blotchy skin, the red the ringed his eyes, the split lips, Dorian could still see bits of _his_ Cullen. He focused on these remnants, the slight chubbiness in the blond’s cheeks, the tiny furrow in his dark brows, the dusting of freckles across his nose. He sighed, rubbing his thumb over Cullen’s bruised knuckles, “I’ll stay. Even if it kills me.”  
The pair fell into silence, the only sound their quiet breaths and the slight wheeze that rattled out of Cullen’s throat. Dorian stared down at his partner, willing him to wake up. He found his eyes drawn to the bedside table, stomach flipping at the sight of a little syringe. He reached forwards, picking it up as if it was a dead animal, staring at the dregs of glowing liquid that painted the syringe walls.   
“What is this?” he asked quietly, dropping the syringe with disgust.  
Cassandra leaned forwards, studying it, head tilted in curiosity, “I have not known Cullen to use anything but lyrium, though I cannot say I have ever seen lyrium that has looked like _that_.”  
Dorian stared at the syringe, skin crawling at the faint, sickly glow it cast on the table beneath it. Suddenly, Dorian stood, snatching up the syringe. He ripped open the window, throwing the syringe out into the backyard. He heard a soft _thunk_ as it landed on the grass, but he couldn’t see where it was, lost in the moonless evening. He turned back around with a shuddering breath, heat rising in his cheeks when he noticed Cassandra watching him over her shoulder.  
“Sorry” he mumbled, awkwardly walking back over to the bed, “I couldn’t look at it anymore.”  
Cassandra shrugged, “do not apologise.”  
Dorian offered her a tiny smile, lowering himself onto the bed beside Cullen. His head snapped up as Cassandra stood, brows furrowing in confusion, “where are you going?”  
She sighed, “I thought I would give you some time alone.”  
“Oh” Dorian nodded, folding his hands in his lap, “thank you.”  
Cassandra gave Cullen a quick, forlorn glance before striding out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Though Dorian appreciated the gesture, he wasn’t sure what to do. He gazed down at Cullen, feeling his eyes prickle with tears. Cullen looked so small, weak, haggard face slack. Dorian reached down, tugging Cullen’s tracksuit pants up from where they rode low over his hips, hissing at how hot the blond’s skin was. With a quick glance at the bedroom door, he summoned his magic, coating his hands with cool, swirling air. He ran his hands over Cullen’s body, trying to bring his temperature down. He felt his stomach flip as his fingers brushed over the raised needle marks. As Dorian stared down at Cullen he felt himself grow weaker. Finally, he let his magic dissipate, scooting up on the bed beside Cullen. He curled up close to his partner, slinging his arm over Cullen’s waist, carefully pulling himself closer.   
“Please wake up” he whispered, feeling his breath hitch in his throat, “I won’t be mad.”  
Cullen didn’t move, his breath raspy and shallow, warm on Dorian’s face. Dorian let out a choked sob, pulling himself tight to Cullen’s chest, fingers digging into the blond’s bare flesh, clinging to him.   
“I love you” he whimpered, unable to stop himself shaking as he dissolved into muffled sobs.         


***  


The sound of yelling pulled Dorian back into consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily, unable to see anything in the pitch-black bedroom. He listened harder, relaxing when he realised the loud voices were coming from the television in the other room, muffled by the door. Dorian chuckled as he heard the shouting turn to weeping, the dramatic music a tell-tale sign of a Nevarran soap opera. Dorian propped himself up on his elbows, lifting himself up from where he rested on Cullen’s chest, reaching over to the bedside table and flicking on the lamp. He tapped his phone awake, wincing when he’d realised he’d been asleep for hours.  
 He ran a hand over his eyes, turning, heart stopping when his gaze fell on Cullen. Cullen lay on his back, rolled over by Dorian’s weight on top of him. His chest wasn’t moving, his lips blue.   
“No”.  
Dorian sat up, grabbing Cullen’s shoulders, the blond’s skin burning hot under his palms.   
“No.”  
He shook Cullen hard, lifting the blond from the mattress, his body loose and heavy. Cullen flailed limply as Dorian tried to wake him, head lolling back. He slipped from Dorian’s fingers, landing with a soft thud back on the mattress. A liquid gargle rolled out of Cullen’s throat, vomit burbling up inside his mouth. He gasped, eyes still rolled back in his head, choking as he inhaled the bile, beginning to convulse.   
“Cullen!” Dorian cried, shaking the man again, mind blank with shock, “Cullen, wake up!”  
Cullen continued to shudder and heave in Dorian’s grip, a horrible, wet hacking noise coming from his throat. Frothy vomit leaked from his mouth and into his hair. Dorian couldn’t stop shaking him, tears flowing hot down his cheeks, begging Cullen to wake up.  
“What is going on?”  
Dorian’s head whipped towards the door. Cassandra stood stock still, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her.  
“Maker…”  
Her sudden appearance snapped Dorian back to his senses, “call an ambulance!” he shrieked, throwing his phone at her “now!”  
She caught it, tapping at it madly. “Roll him on his side!” she shouted as she jammed the phone to her ear.  
Dorian did as he was told, hands shaking as he rolled Cullen onto his side, the blond’s jerking weaker and slower. Without thinking, he thrust his hand into Cullen’s mouth, scooping out the blockage. Cullen gargled, teeth digging into the back of Dorian’s hand as he convulsed. He withdrew his hand, absently wiping it on his pants.   
Cullen’s chest rose as he took in a shallow breath, the sound slightly hitching in his throat. Dorian let out a loud sob, pulling Cullen up in his arms, cradling him against his chest. Cassandra was speaking rapidly into the phone, her accent thicker with her distress, but Dorian could barely hear her. He rocked Cullen back and forth, heart racing every time Cullen’s breath stopped, only for it to restart when another, irregular wheeze left the blond’s blue lips.   
Dorian stroked Cullen’s face, his fingers trembling. “Please, Amatus” he whispered, “just wake up.” His pleas fell on deaf ears, and Cullen stayed limp, the whites of his eyes visible underneath his fair eyelashes. Dorian fell into a strange trance, rocking Cullen gently, whispering through his hitching sobs.   
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning. Cassandra stood over him, her face pale, black streaks down her cheeks where her makeup had run.  
“The ambulance is here” she stated, her voice rough.  
Dorian had barely any time to react before three people rushed in. He was pushed away, a cry of alarm leaving his lips as he almost fell off the bed. Cassandra caught him, holding him against her tightly. Something about being in her arms made him lose the last semblance of control he had. His sobs turned into wails, his hands fisting in Cassandra’s shirt as he watched the paramedics bundle Cullen up. He looked so weak, so fragile as they loaded him onto a stretcher, his wheezing deafening in Dorian’s ears. Cassandra shook against him, her arms almost crushing Dorian for how close she held him.  
A paramedic walked up to them, an apologetic look on her small elven face. Dorian buried his face against Cassandra’s chest, hiding from the short woman.  
“I’m sorry” came the elf’s quiet voice from behind him, “I just need teh ask yeh a few questions.”  
Dorian could feel Cassandra nodding above him.  
“What happened?”  
Cassandra shifted uneasily, “he has been using. We think he injected himself with something.”  
Dorian couldn’t see the elf, but he imagined that she was nodding, that same patronising apologetic look on her face. He fought the urge to yell at her, itching to run to Cullen’s side. Cassandra seemed to sense his agitation, her arms constricting him tighter.   
“How long was ‘e not breathing fer?”  
Dorian took a shuddering breath, “I don’t know” he muttered, barely able to talk through his tears, “I woke up and his lips were blue. He vomited and he was choking and…”  
“It’s alright” the elf’s voice was soothing, her hand on the small of his back, “yeh both can follow the ambo if yeh’d like.”  
Dorian finally managed to extricate himself from Cassandra’s hug, turning to the elf, “thank you.”  
She offered them a small smile before walking off, calling out to her co-workers. Dorian turned to Cassandra, the same dead look on her face as he felt within his heart. He felt like crying, like screaming, like breaking something, but he was rooted to the spot, chest heaving. His wails had subsided, tears drying on his cheeks.   
“What do we do?” he asked quietly, “what’s going to happen?”  
Cassandra looked at him, eyes swimming. She shrugged, bottom lip trembling.   
Dorian nodded, taking a shuddering breath, “let’s go.”  
He gently took her arm, leading her out. They walked through the house in silence, the red and blue flashing lights lighting the dark hallway. Dorian paused in the front room, leaning down and grabbing Cullen’s parka from the ground. Cassandra looked at him in confusion.  
“For when Cullen gets out” he explained meekly, “it’s Wintermarch.”  
He slid his arms into the parka, burying his face into the fur. Cassandra reached for him and they stepped out of the house, locking it behind them. Dorian stared at the ambulance, catching a last glimpse of Cullen as the paramedics shut the doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For What It's Worth- Placebo


	35. Everything's Ruined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!
> 
> Here's the second last chapter :) I hope you all enjoy it, and I'm super excited (and sad) that this fic is finally coming to an end. 
> 
> I love all your comments and kudos, and I hope you all stick around for the final chapter! Thank you for reading!

The seat was hard and uncomfortable, the fluorescent lights were bright and painful, but Dorian didn’t move from beside Cullen, where he’d remained for the past three days. He held tight onto Cullen’s hand, resting his head against his lover’s steadily rising chest. Cullen hadn’t stirred at all, his arms motionless at his sides, his eyes still beneath his eyelids. He looked worse than Dorian had ever seen him, his skin was sallow, his lips dry and cracked, long tube taped to his face and shoved down his throat. Dorian tried to ignore the steady beeping of the life support machine as he talked quietly to Cullen.  
“I’m sorry I left” he murmured for the hundredth time, “I should’ve stayed, I should have looked after you. I love you.”  
He watched Cullen closely, desperate for any sign of life, a hint of a smile, a twitch of an eyelid. Cullen offered nothing, save for a long, wheezing breath. He squeezed Cullen’s hand, wishing desperately that Cullen would just wake up, that he could hear what he was saying. He reached up with his free hand, gently stroking Cullen’s cheek.   
“I shouldn’t have slapped you” he whispered, feeling sick as he remembered the sound, the look on Cullen’s face, “I was mad, and I was hurt, but it’s no excuse. I hope you can forgive me.”  
Initially, Dorian had found it hard to maintain the one-sided conversation, but as the days drew on, and Cullen remained unresponsive, the mage found himself divulging every scrap of information he’d been holding on to.  
“I thought we’d have children someday” he admitted, chewing on his bottom lip, “not for some time, mind; I’m not quite ready to sign away my life just yet, but…” he sighed, tracing his thumb over the back of Cullen’s hand, “I could see it so clearly. You’d make such a great father.”  
Dorian sighed, feeling his eyes begin to prickle as they welled up. He squeezed Cullen’s hand tight, letting out a shuddering breath. “Please wake up, Cullen” he begged, voice barely more than a whisper, “don’t go. I don’t care that you lied. I don’t care what it takes to get you better.” He squeezed Cullen’s hand tighter, “I love you, Cullen. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”  
Dorian couldn’t help sending up a silent prayer to the Maker that Cullen would respond, that something would penetrate his endless sleep. Dorian’s prayer fell on deaf ears, and Cullen took another shallow, rasping breath through the respirator.   
The sound of a door opening behind him jerked Dorian to attention. He sat up, absently wiping away his tears, not bothering to see who had come in. Cassandra walked into his view, rounding Cullen’s bed and sitting down beside him, opposite Dorian. She met the mage’s eyes with a sad smile.  
“How are you holding up?”  
Dorian barked a laugh, “about as well as you.”  
Cassandra grimaced, reaching forward and taking Cullen’s other hand in hers, gripping it like a lifeline, “it is hard to believe that it has come to this”. Her voice was even more monotonous than usual, flat and dead.   
Dorian didn’t respond, not sure what to say. He felt as if he should try and comfort her, distract her from the fact that her best friend was basically a breathing corpse. But, what could Dorian say? How could he possibly help her when he himself was in the process of shattering? He was pulled from his thoughts when Cassandra spoke.  
“What was that?”  
She didn’t even look annoyed, not lifting her eyes from Cullen’s face as she repeated herself, “Bull is down in the cafeteria, if you would like to speak with him.”  
Despite everything, Dorian found himself perking up just a little, “Bull’s here?”  
Cassandra nodded, “he did not want to come into Cullen’s room, but he wants to be here for me” she finally dragged her eyes away from Cullen, fixing Dorian with an intense gaze, “for us.”  
Dorian gave her a small smile, standing. He reached out, squeezing her shoulder. He jumped when Cassandra laid her hand on top of his, holding it there for a moment before letting go. Even after the days beforehand, seeing vulnerability in Cassandra was unnerving.  
Dorian wandered towards the cafeteria, route steadily becoming familiar, his feet moving of their own volition as his mind wandered. He felt as if he’d been floating in his body, never quite rooted in any one moment, his thoughts revolving around Cullen. He tried to picture them walking out of the hospital together, arm in arm, or Dorian possibly wheeling Cullen out, if the need arose. As he daydreamed he buried his face into the fur lining of Cullen’s parka, which he had refused to take off since the night they had arrived.   
As Cassandra had said, Bull was in the drab hospital cafeteria. The huge qunari looked almost comical at the small tables, his knees nearing his chest for how short the chair was for him. Dorian walked over to him, sitting down.  
“Why are you here?”  
Bull grimaced at the question, shoulders tensing, “I’ll admit I don’t like Cullen” he began gruffly, “doesn’t mean I wanted all this shit to happen.”  
Dorian nodded, reaching out and snatching Bull’s coffee. He took a long drink, gagging and slamming it down when the lukewarm liquid invaded his mouth. He let out a comical retch, swallowing it with a shudder.  
Bull rolled his eyes, “I’ll buy you one, Dor.”  
Dorian shook his head, “no, thank you. I doubt that there’s anything that could make that garbage water taste better.”  
“You sure?” Bull asked, “you look like death.”  
Dorian winced.  
Bull shifted awkwardly, voice soft, “so, he’s not…”  
Dorian finished the question in his head, “no.”  
Silence followed his answer. Horrible, oppressive silence. It pressed down on Dorian’s shoulders, crushing him under its weight, combining with the weight of the pitiful gaze that Bull directed at him. And suddenly, it was too much.  
“Kaffas!” Dorian’s swear was not so much angry as it was weak. A tiny, broken whimper as he burst into tears. His sobs were loud, echoing around the beige walls of the cafeteria, but Dorian found he cared little. He let himself be pulled as Bull tucked him under his arm.  
“I know, Dorian” Bull murmured, rubbing Dorian’s back, “I know.”  
“Where are his friends?” Dorian spluttered, voice muffled against Bull’s chest, “his family?”  
Bull let out a long sigh, “I hate to say it, kid, but I think you and Cass are it.”  
Dorian let out another loud sob, clenching his fists tight in Bull’s shirt. Bull just continued to rub his back, murmuring placations.   
“I love Cullen” Dorian moaned, “I’ve never met anyone like him, and he deserves to be loved. He doesn’t deserve this.”  
Bull nodded, continuing his ministrations. Dorian continued to sob, not caring as he drew the gaze of strangers. Bull said nothing as Dorian’s sobs slowly quietened, not caring as the mage’s tears soaked through his shirt. Eventually, Dorian’s tears were silent.  
“You should come round to the apartment sometime.”  
Dorian looked up, tears stopped in his confusion, “what?”  
Bull shrugged, “we should catch up. I don’t want you to be a stranger.”  
Dorian wiped his eyes, looking at Bull with suspicion, “why are you here?”  
“I already told you th-“  
“No” Dorian snapped, trying to discreetly wipe his running nose, “why are you _really_ here?”  
Bull grimaced, sitting back in his seat, “I shouldn’t have said what I said” he admitted finally, “I was trying to look out for you but… I did it shittily.”  
Dorian gave Bull a watery smile, “it’s ok” he said softly, “I just hope that you’ll be my friend again.”  
“I will” Bull replied, lopsided grin crinkling his eye.  
Dorian leaned into Bull, resting on his chest. As mad as he had been at Bull, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed having his friend back. He listened to the sound of Bull’s heart thundering in his broad chest, trying to pretend that things were different. That they weren’t in the hospital. That they were home, and that, perhaps, the person he leaned against was a little smaller, a little softer. But as a voice came over the intercom, the illusion was shattered, and Dorian was shoved back into cold reality. Sighing, he stood up, squeezing Bull’s shoulder.  
“You have terrible taste in coffee” he sniffed, glaring at the offending cup, “I’m glad to see that that, at least, has not changed.”  
Bull laughed, taking a sip from his coffee.  
Dorian wrinkled his nose, “I’ll never understand your love of drip.”  
“At least it’s not a chai latte” Bull teased.  
Dorian gasped in mock offence, flipping Bull off before sweeping out of the cafeteria. Bull’s laughter followed him down the hallway. As he began the journey back to Cullen’s ward, he felt a little lighter. He dawdled, trying to hold onto that feeling as long as possible before it slipped through his fingers.

 

***  


Cassandra was still at Cullen’s bedside when Dorian walked in. She was talking quietly, switching between Nevarran and Common as she admonished him. “Why would you do something so foolish?” was all Dorian caught before she switched back to her native tongue. Dorian hovered in the doorway for a moment, allowing her a couple more moments before he intruded. Eventually, she glanced up, eyes going wide when they landed on him. She hastily dabbed at her eyes, straightening up.  
“Nothing?”  
She shook her head, though Dorian didn’t really know why she bothered answering. He knew what the answer would be.   
“Have you found his family?” he asked, a little more hopefully.  
Again, she gave a quick shake of her head, eyes drifting back down to Cullen.  
Dorian grimaced, “I’ll go to the nurse’s station later. Perhaps they’ll have something on his medical records.”  
He wandered over to Cassandra, sitting down next to her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, heaving a long sigh. Dorian had found it strange at first, the way that Cassandra seemed to constantly seek physical contact with him. He’d never been close to her, not in the same way that Cullen had. Though, Dorian reasoned, maybe he was a surrogate. Receiving the tiny, platonic touches that she wished she could have with Cullen again. Then again, maybe she was just seeking comfort, the same way he was.  
A knock on the door made them both lift their heads, watching as a young doctor walked in. He was pale and lanky, blond hair obscuring watery blue eyes. Dorian felt his stomach drop, hoping against hopes that the words out of the doctor’s mouth would be anything different than what he knew they would be.  
“Are you both ready?”  
Dorian shook his head fiercely, standing up, almost shielding Cullen with his arms, “he’ll wake up.”  
The doctor looked at him sadly, shaking his head, “Cullen isn’t here” he stated simply, “I can’t hear him anymore. No voice. Drifting upwards.”  
Dorian tried to step forwards, temper flaring, but Cassandra caught his wrist. She gently pulled him down until he was sitting again, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.  
“We have to.”  
“No” Dorian whined, “no.”  
Cassandra pulled him closer, holding him tight “we cannot keep him here like this” she insisted, her voice beginning to waver, “it is not fair to who he was.”  
The word ‘was’ hit Dorian hard, like a punch to the chest. He stared at Cullen, finally accepting that his love wasn’t in there. His empty shell lay in the bed, breathing only with the help of a machine. Cullen was gone, and had been for days. Dorian let out a sob, nodding slowly. He stood, leaning forwards, pressing a final, soft kiss to Cullen’s lips. His tears dropped down onto Cullen’s cheeks, sliding back into his oily blond hair. As he sat back, he took Cullen’s hand in his own, giving a weak smile as Cassandra did the same. Dorian imagined that the curl of Cassandra’s fingers around his own was Cullen.  
The doctor stepped forward, walking over to Cullen’s side. He did a last few checks on Cullen before he called for a few nurses. Dorian couldn’t look at them, eyes only on Cullen. He prayed for a sign, a flicker of life, a tiny, miniscule indicator that Cullen was still in there. The Maker wasn’t feeling kind.  
The doctor began to flick off the monitors, the screens going black. He then turned to the respirator, switching it off, gently easing the tubes out of Cullen’s mouth and nose. Immediately, Cullen’s breaths became raspy, shallow. Dorian held his hand so tight it hurt, not wanting to watch, but unable to tear his eyes away.   
Cullen’s breaths slowed, becoming even shallower, and then finally stopped.  
The doctor reached forwards after a few moments, checking Cullen’s pulse. He turned to Dorian and Cassandra, “he’s gone.”  
Cassandra let out a howl, lurching forwards. Dorian grabbed her, holding her to him. She sobbed into him, body heaving with her cries, fists clenched in Dorian’s shirt. Dorian didn’t cry. He stared at Cullen, numb. He was gone. Gone. Cullen wasn’t there. Dorian had thought that, perhaps, he’d had some preparation for this, finding Cullen high. Maybe he’d know he’d feel, expect his response, with how many lovers he’d lost, how his parents had turned him away. But he was wrong. It felt like every inch of Dorian was cold. Like the last string holding him to the world had been severed, and he was floating. He watched Cullen’s lifeless form and wished that he, too, was drifting through the Fade. He reached out, taking Cullen’s hand once again, not flinching even as Cullen’s skin had begun to cool.   
“I love you” he murmured.  


***  


Dorian sat on the floor of his and Cullen’s bedroom, all the furniture shoved up against the walls. He held Cullen’s jacket on his lap, face pressed into the fur, breathing in what remained of Cullen’s scent. He looked up, casting some magic into his time amulet, which sat in the centre of the room. It flickered back to life, projecting another memory, Dorian sobbing as he watched Cullen. The blond was looking at him, smiling, talking about how he wanted to get a Mabari.   
“I’ll name it Roach” he was saying.  
“A fitting name for a beast” Dorian heard himself say, “but what you’ll name it doesn’t matter. I don’t need something to slobber on me, you do enough of that already.”  
Cullen laughed wickedly, leaning in, “is that so?”  
Dorian let the memory die, burying his face in his hands. He wailed, letting his fingers twist painfully tight in his hair, threatening to rip it out. An idea took him then, making his tears subside for just a moment. He looked up, staring at the time amulet, which was still dimly glowing. Dorian stood up, using the wall to brace himself.   
Drawing on his mana, curled tight in his belly, Dorian tried to focus on the amulet. His brow furrowed in concentration, hands outstretched as he began to pour his magic into the amulet. His hands shook with his efforts, light streaming from his fingers, making the jewel glow brighter. Green light erupted in the room, emanating from a glowing split, beginning to rip itself in the air. The green gash lit the room, casting its sickly light over everything.  
Dorian pushed himself harder, slowly opening the rift, ripping the air as he tore open time. As he began to see inside the rift, he cried out in triumph. He could see himself lying on the bed, curled on top of Cullen. With a final shove, he forced the rift wide open, a tremendous ripping sound filling the air. Carefully, he ceased his efforts, panting as the rift stayed open, glowing edges undulating in the air.   
Slowly, Dorian stepped closer to the rift, letting out a soft cry as he watched Cullen breathing. Dorian didn’t know why he’d opened the night of the overdose, but it was all he had been able to think about. Damning himself for falling asleep, for wanting to ‘protect’ Cullen by not taking him to hospital. He supposed that maybe he was trying to make it right.  
Carefully, Dorian drew himself up to the rift. He hadn’t yet tried entering them physically. He had so much research to do before he could even think about it, but with his love there, alive, within reach, Dorian decided to damn the consequences.   
He lifted his leg, stepping into the rift. His foot touched solid ground and he braced himself, preparing to push the rest of himself in. The edges of the rift began to waver, quivering. Dorian gasped, focusing his magic again, trying to pour it back into the present as half his body was in the past. The ripping sound filled the air again, and Dorian suddenly found himself thrown out of the rift. He flew through the air, colliding painfully with the bedroom wall, the rift closing with a loud crack. Dorian looked around, heart falling as he realised he was back in the present, bed empty.   
Dorian let himself collapse into a heap, pain radiating through him, bruise already beginning to form under his skin. He whimpered, reaching for Cullen’s parka. He curled up around it, burying his face into it.  
“I’m sorry, Amatus” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”  
The glow in the amulet faded, and the room grew dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's Ruined- Faith No More


	36. House of the Rising Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading this so far! I can't believe so many people have liked it! This started out as just practice, a way to make myself sustain a story, but your support has helped it turn into so much more for me. I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it! I'm sorry (not sorry) for all the ups and downs, and for making what is, essentially, an emotional rollercoaster.
> 
> Also, thank you thedreadpiratefluffy! All your comments make me so happy, even when you're telling me how sad I made you.
> 
> I'm hoping to do another Cullrian fic in the future, but I don't know when it will be. I hope you all stick around for it, and I hope you all like it as much as you liked Ball and Chain (if you did, if you didn't then I hope it was better lol)
> 
> Enjoy this last chapter! I'm sorry it's so short, it's really more of an epilogue, but I didn't really think the story was complete where I left it with the last chapter. I hope you're all satisfied with the ending!

Three Years Later  


Dorian slipped quietly out of the bed, trying not to wake the sleeping man he’d shared it with. The floorboards creaked under his foot and he froze, but the man didn’t stir. He didn’t remember his bed partner’s name, nor did he really care to know. Another anonymous tryst with someone whom he’d never see again. Another warm body to fill the hole that had never begun to heal.  
He stole quietly around the room, quickly pulling his clothes on. He caught his reflection in a little mirror on the wall, roughly smoothing his hair down before scurrying out of the bedroom. He found his wallet and phone on the kitchen counter, alongside his coat, which had been haphazardly thrown over a fruit bowl. Dorian scowled, taking a sniff of the fur-lined parka, hoping it hadn’t changed the smell. As he heard his blond paramour begin to stir, Dorian jumped, darting out of the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.  
As Dorian arrived home, he felt a strange weight lifted slightly off his shoulders. Unlike the parka, which still smelt like apples, Haven hadn’t been tainted. It still stood as it had three years ago, the furniture never moved, the decorations never changed. In certain weather, it even still smelled like _him_ in places. The back of the couch, the middle of the blanket, the windowsill in the kitchen.  
Dorian dragged himself further into the house, flicking a hand, setting the kettle to boil. Once in the bedroom, he discarded his dirty clothes, avoiding his face in the mirror, not wanting to see the marks the stranger left on his neck. He’d told the man not to, but the fool was greedy. He tugged on some tracksuit pants and a shirt that was far too large for him, making his way back out to the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle.  
Cigarette balanced between his fingers, Dorian spun his coffee mug in his hands, staring at the wall. The coffee had long since grown cold, but he still took occasional sips, not moving his eyes from a dark spot on the wallpaper, trying to discern if it was an oil stain or a cigarette burn. He wondered if, if he looked at it for long enough, the face of Andraste would appear in it. He snorted into his mug, swallowing more of the vile liquid, barely noticing the taste.  
As dawn turned into morning, Dorian forced himself to move. He washed his mug absently, staring out of the window, watching the road. His phone chimed behind him, but he ignored it. He knew what his friends sounded like, and the little trill was none of them. He wondered if it was his bed warmer from the night before, grimacing. He didn’t know how he’d sunk so low as to bed an Orlesian, but he supposed the self-proclaimed chevalier had been pretty in places.  
 A knock on the front door pulled Dorian from his repetitive movements. He walked to the front room, greeting Cassandra. As always, she asked him how he was doing, and he responded with ‘fine’. Each morning she gave him a look of disbelief, but she had learned that pushing him for more did no good. And each morning she scrutinised him for a moment, silent, before nodding.  
They went on their daily morning run. They didn’t race, instead keeping pace with each other, their hot breath white in the cold Drakonis air. Their track took them through a small park, along a jetty, and finally into the town centre. Each landmark they passed made Dorian think of _him_. Each holding a fragment of their life together, another needle pushed under his skin. Cassandra had suggested he move, but he couldn’t. Each needle was proof that Cullen had been real, that Dorian hadn’t imagined him.  
They ended up outside their regular café, chatting breathlessly as they walked into the warm building. The flirtatious Antivan barista greeted them with their regular drinks, the wink he aimed at Dorian crinkling the tattoo that decorated the side of his face. Dorian let his eyes linger on the elf, but he felt nothing, save for an instinctual, faint lust. Another quick fuck, if only he didn’t have to see him every day.  
As they were served their food, Cassandra talked animatedly about Bull. Like her morning greeting, she had learned that she had to hold the conversation. Dorian couldn’t put up the mask around her anymore, couldn’t pretend. He nodded at the appropriate times, made little comments where necessary, but most of the time, it was all he could do to listen. Sometimes, like that morning, Cassandra would say something that would spark inside Dorian. A little flame that made him feel a little more alert, less like the shell he had been dragging around. Cassandra confessed that she might be pregnant, and Dorian felt a real smile on his lips. He congratulated her, holding her hands in his, squeezing tight. He was thankful that she had moved on. That she had someone to cling to, to stop her from falling into the same pit that he had ended up in.  
She smiled uncontrollably as she talked, her hand drifting unconsciously to her stomach. Dorian’s eyes followed her movement, and he felt a warm glow in his chest. Something to look forward to. A reason to wake up in the morning. Cassandra laughed as she told Dorian how Sera had reacted, the scruffy elf screaming in excitement. Then her insistence that when the child was born she be called ‘Aunty Sera’. Dorian chuckled quietly with Cassandra, wondering how Sera was doing. It had been a long time since he’d seen her. Perhaps too long.  
They ran back to Dorian’s house in silence, the air less cold as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The flowers through the park were beginning to bloom, painting the green hills with splotches of pink, purple and white. It matched how the garden at home had looked, when _he’d_ been around to look after it. Dorian barely noticed, his eyes trained on the dirt walking track, following it mechanically as it wound through the trees.  
As they jogged up to Dorian’s front door, Cassandra declined his offer of a shower. She settled down on the couch as he wandered into the bathroom, the music of her soap operas drifting down the hallway. Dorian didn’t look at the picture of the Mabari which hung over the toilet, nor did he think about the hole it covered. He showered in silence, nothing but the squeal of the water pipes echoing around the room.  
An hour or so later, Cassandra drove Dorian to Vivienne’s studio, his forehead pressed against the window. He watched the buildings and trees zip by, listening to Cassandra’s warbling music. She continued to chat, musing on baby names, wondering whether they should give the child a human name or a qunari name. Dorian didn’t respond, except to bristle when she idly suggesting giving it _his_ name. A short ‘no’ was all he offered.  
As she pulled up to the studio, she caught Dorian’s wrist, holding him there. She gave him a soft smile, offering him dinner with her and Bull that night. An ‘open invitation’ as she would say every morning. Dorian accepted, as he always did, placing his other hand on hers, squeezing it. Only then did she release him. With a final ‘thank you’, Dorian trudged into the studio.  


***

 

The sound of classical music filled Dorian’s small workspace, the hum of violins bouncing off the walls. Dorian shuffled his notes around, organising them into a neat pile. He’d been researching intensively, experimenting over and over. Each time he’d fixed another bug, ironed out another wrinkle in his theories. It had taken years of trial and error and he thought that, perhaps, he’d finally reached a stable formula. He didn’t dare hope, though. He’d done as such before and the subsequent failure had set him back months.  
He stood, sending the furniture to the walls with an idle flick of his wrist. He grabbed the bracket he’d made, setting it up on the floor in the centre of the room. The welding was a little shoddy, but he’d made sure to engrave the runes impeccably, each mark precise, infused with magic. He fit the time amulet into it, making sure it was secure. Once he was sure it wasn’t moving, he placed a hand onto the bracket, sending a small pulse of magic through it, locking the two pieces together. He felt so foolish for the way he’d gone about time magic before, reckless in his experiments. He sent up a silent prayer that this time, it would work.  
Taking a few steps back, Dorian drew in a deep breath. He found his mana, coiling slowly in his belly, jumping to meet him as he began to reach for it. Slowly and carefully, he funnelled his magic into the amulet, watching it intently as it began to glow. He let more pour in as a line began to open in the air, bright green, like a cut. The room was cast in green light, growing brighter as the line grew longer. With careful, practiced movements, Dorian began to stabilise the rift, tethering it to the bracket, trying to prevent it from closing. Then, he reached out, gently easing the rift open, hissing triumphantly as the edges parted easily. A loud ripping sound accompanied the action, making Dorian’s ears hurt, but he didn’t stop, continuing to pull until the rift was three feet wide, hovering in the air. The edges trembled, but the rift stayed open. With a careful flick of the wrist, he tethered it again to the bracket, magical threads glowing for a moment before becoming invisible.  
Dorian stood for a moment in front of the rift, staring into it. He was no longer looking at the other side of his studio, his front room stretching out in front of him. After taking a moment to steel himself, Dorian carefully stepped into the rift, a rush of air washing over him as he stepped into the past.  
He felt disorientated as he looked around, things not where he’d left them. The parka was draped across the sunlounge, the Maker damned ashtray still sitting on the windowsill. As Dorian looked at all the bits laying around, little indicators that _he_ was still walking, breathing, he felt himself beginning to tear up. He hesitated, waiting for the rift to start collapsing, for him to be thrown out like he had been so many times before. The rift stayed stable, the edges quivering slightly in the air.  
Taking a few steps further into the room, Dorian peeked out the front window. He saw himself rushing away from the front door, the strangest sensation of déjà vu as he watched his own retreating back. He desperately wanted to scream at himself, to tell himself to go back, but he didn’t.  
Dorian’s feet took him towards the bathroom automatically, following the path he’d imagined every night for three years. As he passed the bedroom, he glanced in, cringing at the sight of the open drawers, his clothes strewn over the floor. He thought he’d buried his shame, yet it reared up again, making him bow his head, cheeks burning. He pushed on. As he reached the end of the hallway, Dorian’s steps began to falter. He could hear shuffling from through the door, and it sent his heart thundering in his chest. He could still remember the echo of the door as he slammed it behind him, the slap as it bounced off the walls. To him it was years ago, but here, it was just minutes. Taking a shaky breath, Dorian reached out, hand trembling as it landed on the doorknob. Dorian couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that crested then, streaming silently town his cheeks. He gripped the doorknob tight, turning it slowly, hearing the lock click quietly as it opened.  
Cullen was leaning against the sink, head bowed. His skin was as fair as Dorian remembered, even marked with red splotches, his blond curls hanging limply, light reflecting off them like a halo. Cullen was shivering, shoulders heaving as he sobbed. Dorian was frozen as he stared at his boyfriend, ghost made real before him. He was desperate to step forward, to run to Cullen, sweep him up in his arms, hold him close and never let him go. But Dorian was terrified that if he moved, if he breathed, the illusion would shatter. He was rooted to the spot, crying harder, internal conflict raging.  
He let out a quiet sob, “Amatus.”  
Cullen started, turning. His face was just how Dorian remembered it, even if his features were a little haggard. It was him. He was really there. Cullen sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes. He looked tentative, his cheek red, hunched in on himself as he surveyed Dorian. Finally, Cullen gave Dorian a small watery smile.  
“You came back”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House of the Rising Sun- The Animals


End file.
